The Dogs and Shakespeare
by Ravenpuff
Summary: An event sways the Dursleys to accept a five year-old Harry as a part of their family. He is slowly introduced to a normal life and the world outside his cupboard. Discovering magic early, it becomes his greatest joy and deepest secret. Can he share it?
1. Harry the Closet Monster

The Dogs and Shakespeare

Story Summary: The Dursleys are swayed by circumstance to accept Harry as he is: a cursed little blighter who gets into too much trouble and has the additional quirk of magic. He slowly becomes a part of their family and with his new freedom in life comes his ability to discover and explore magic years before Hogwarts. He leads two lives, as a precocious muggle child and as a secretly strengthening wizard. When he makes his first real friends, he can't help but share the secret with them.

This story will initially focus on the pre-Hogwarts years but is intended to be continued into an alternate reality accounting of the Hogwarts years as well. I've got plans for this Harry. Aside from the Dursley family, planned featured characters will include Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas, Collin and Dennis Creevey, Draco Malfoy and Lord Voldemort. After Hogwarts starts...we'll wait and see. And yes, I just said that Voldemort will be involved before Hogwarts starts.

Warnings: I don't know if this story will end in Harry on the Light or Dark side. Either is a fair possibilty. Other than that, this won't be any darker than the actual series is.

Other Notes: I've been wanting to begin postings of this story for a long time. If you enjoy it, please do tell me so.

Chapter 1: Harry the Closet Monster

His aunt, Petunia Dursley, thought he was simply a wild little monster. His uncle, Vernon Dursley, liked him just enough to look after him, in spite of muttering that he was a terror and blight. His cousin, Dudley Dursley, thought of him as a toy to play with and abuse as he liked, and often told him he was a stupid baby. The neighbors, the whole lot of them, just wished he'd move somewhere else, _soon_.

Thus it was the general consensus that Harry Potter was a trouble-maker, a nuisance, hopelessly freakish and not quite bright. He was five years old and had rooted up more dangerous nonsense than his family, the Dursleys, had ever before thought a child capable of finding. By the age of three, he had sat to play behind the tires of the family car, run off into neighbor's yards and nibbled the leaves off their bushes, gotten bit by his aunt's bulldog and tried to bite the dog back, crawled out of a second-story window and somehow survived falling, investigated a cupboard full of cleaning chemicals and committed a number of other acts of curiosity which had left his aunt and uncle, with whom he lived, completely exasperated and befuddled. The boy was a disastrous danger to himself and a horrible embarrassment to the otherwise orderly household. Granted, though at five he was blamed for such things every day as though he had just done them, he hadn't actually been that wild since he was a small tot. No, he had become much more subdued since his family began keeping him in a cupboard. "For safekeeping," his uncle had tiredly said at first, "to get him out from underfoot and into a place where he can't make trouble. Hah! If there is such a place."

It was dark there, like a time-out in his old bedroom. The dark, he knew, wasn't so bad. Anything could live in the dark. Anything could happen in the dark. It was so much easier to find things, the things _he_ liked to look for at least, when his eyes couldn't see to distract him. He could feel that secrets lived in the dark, with the faeries and monsters. His Aunt Tuna said he was a little monster, so Harry felt quite eager to meet one, so that he could ask it to be friends or perhaps to leave together, to wherever monsters were meant to live, through whatever secret of shadows allowed them to be there in the dark but gone in the light, without ever opening the door. He liked to imagine what his new monster friend would look like, whether he'd have fur or horns or a tail. Perhaps with bright green eyes like his and shimmery silver scales like a fish. Perhaps with thick black fur, a great beast resembling the shadows it came from.

Looking for monsters had been fine at first, until he'd gotten frustrated at not finding any. He'd thought he'd found one a few times but it always turned out to be a little bug, probably a spider, scurrying over his skin at a tickling run. He became bored and wanted to go outside, to be in the light and see and touch the colorful mysteries like cats and flowers, and all the other things that tried to trick him into thinking they didn't know about the shadows' secrets and monsters. He knew better, of course; even if his aunt and uncle had told him otherwise, he could _feel_ that those little living things all knew what he wanted to learn. It wasn't his fault that the birds and bushes had tricked his family into believing their lies of not having secrets to tell.

The trouble had come when he decided he'd had enough of his 'safekeeping' and tried to open the door.

Being locked in for a time-out was a wretched thing that had only happened to him twice before. Considering how often he was punished, this wasn't a lot at all. However, those times he simply found himself locked in his bedroom, with a few of Dudley's unwanted toys to play with and a bright sunny window to look out of until he was let out. When he found himself locked in the small closet space beneath the stairs, he audibly swallowed. He immediately felt panic well up at the thought of being trapped in the little room, maybe forever, maybe until he starved. What if the monsters wouldn't come save him? He hadn't met one yet, aside from himself, so what was to say they'd visit him now, or ever?

He banged against the door and howled, desperate to see that someone was still on the other side of the door and he hadn't been left alone. His aunt came to stand outside the door and called in, "If I let you out, do you promise to behave yourself?" Of course, he cried out all sorts of promises about how good he'd be, just if she'd let him out. So she unlocked the door and he rushed out, feeling as though he'd just escaped with his life. His aunt shook her head in exasperation at his antics and returned to the kitchen, muttering something about wild little monsters and thanking goodness for her precious Diddydums. Harry had stood panting and shivering after his ordeal, determined not to get into such trouble again. Then finally, he took in a great breath of air and let himself outside to further question the blue jay that liked to roost in an ash tree in Mister Emerson's back garden about just how he got so blue.

Trouble, he eventually figured out, was simply something that happened whenever he did something. When trouble happened, he was inevitably made to stay in the cupboard beneath the stairs, until his aunt and uncle wouldn't let him out even if he howled and screamed for them to. After awhile, when trouble was no longer something his aunt couldn't take in hand, when he was tired of trying to explain to her that he just wanted to know what made the rose bushes _grow_ so much, when his uncle always looked at him like he was disappointed, when his bigger cousin would stand and jeer because he thought Harry's crying was entertaining, Harry stopped trying to find out the daylight mysteries and kept his peace about what he thought the wind was saying and about how unfair he thought it was that he kept getting shut up in such a little part of the world, when it looked like there was plenty of space to share. After he was made to live in the cupboard, he learned to be quiet like the things that made plants grow and smart like the trick-playing cats and flowers, so that he could keep his _own_ mysteries.

He helped his Aunt Tuna in the kitchen and didn't ask her why she was named after a fish. He said all the polite words his Uncle Vernon liked to hear and didn't ever ask why the man's face could turn so many colors when he was mad. Instead of crying for his aunt or uncle's help when his cousin Dudley would bully him, he'd just outrun or outwit him, which wasn't very hard. On the surface, even though it only stopped the yelling and didn't really make anyone like him better, Harry was a good little monster, mindful and well-behaved. It seemed that nothing would get him out of the cupboard under the stairs and back into a room with a window but at least they weren't tempted to start keeping him in the cupboard under the sink or in the dish cabinet.

They could go ahead and shun and tut, he was just fine without them. They'd see they were wrong, once he got bigger and dug under the house to find monster caves. Then he'd have loads of monster friends, and they'd probably have tons of jewels from their tunnels, and then he'd be rich and happy and loved and what would they have? The television? _Hah!_

For two years, he told himself that being alone in the dark was making him stronger, better. He could hear the whispering of secrets on the air, more clearly than he had when he was small. Sometimes, when he was trying particularly hard to find an answer, a truth behind all the tricks, he could feel something soft and fluttery around him, like thousands of summer-warm butterflies beating their wings against his skin. A mystery he didn't mind, since it was, at last, something real enough to touch, even if he couldn't see it.

Patiently trying to make the fluttery sensation come to him again, so that he could try to ask it where it came from and if it was a type of monster, Harry was startled out of his meditation when the door to his cupboard was whipped open. He blinked up at his Uncle Vernon, trying to see him in the brighter light of the hall.

"We're going out," his uncle said gruffly, "and I don't want any trouble from you, boy, do you hear?"

Harry tilted his head at the white and black blur and slapped his palm against his cot until he found his glasses. Putting them on, his Uncle Vernon's scowl came into focus. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"Good. If you do act up, we'll just see what there is for you to do about the house, won't we? Lord knows your Aunt shouldn't have to do everything herself while you laze about here."

Thinking that Dudley did far more lazing than he did, apparently always looking for secrets in television, Harry bit his tongue and stood up without comment, knowing that either agreeing or disagreeing would probably get him into trouble, as most things did. He stepped out into the hall and looked up at his uncle for further direction, guessing that anything he did of his own free will wouldn't go over well. He flinched back as he caught his Uncle Vernon's eyes, surprised and hurt to have discovered the man looking him over in disgust.

Apparently flinching was the right thing to do, but then he hadn't meant to do it so he should have known it was. Perhaps he should look into only doing things without meaning to. Uncle Vernon frowned at him, looking ready to say something that might not have been mean, then suddenly sighed in resignation and turned his back on him, going into the kitchen. "We leave in ten minutes, boy. Clean yourself up!"

Harry breathed deeply and blinked at a stinging in his eyes, caused by some trick in the only mystery his family had. It didn't matter what the truth to that one was, since he knew they'd never tell him, but he wished it would stop catching him by surprise.

Hurrying up the steps to the bathroom, Harry quickly washed his face and ran his comb over his hair, trying to make all the spiky clumps of it stick together into one shape. He thought it looked a bit worse than it had before he'd bothered but at least he'd tried.

"Boys! We're leaving!"

Stamping came from down the hall, Dudley pounding his way downstairs as loud as he could. Harry smiled, feeling it was a joke on his cousin that he wasn't under the stairs to be bothered by the shaking stomps. He went out into the hall after him and as he came downstairs and saw a look of disappointment on Dudley's face, he couldn't help but stick out his tongue.

_"Harry!"_ Snapped his Aunt Tuna.

"Mum-_my_, why does _he_ get to come?"

"Dudduds, Mummy and Daddy want some fresh air and Harry can't stay here alone. God knows what he'd do to the house if he did."

Harry ignored it and held his tongue, not particularly wanting to be left out of the impromptu outing. It only happened occasionally, but when his Aunt Tuna would get restless and have Uncle Vernon take them somewhere, it was usually at least a little fun for Harry, with new plants to talk to or even a playground to play on for awhile. Sometimes, when they were out in front of strangers and all getting along, he could even pretend that he was a real part of the family, instead of just the monster they kept in their closet.

They all loaded into the car, Harry and Dudley sitting as far apart as they could, and set off somewhat peacefully.

_"OW!"_

"Boy!"

"Daddy, Harry's _glaring_ at me."

"Dudley kicked me!"

"Did not! I'm way over _here_, nitwit!"

"You did too!"

"I did no-"

"Don't make me pull this car over or you'll both be sorry!"

Dudley threw his back against the seat of the car with a huff and Harry hurriedly looked out the window with an innocent expression on his face.

This was followed by several repetitions, with pinching, face-making, name-calling and shoving thrown into the mix. When they pulled into the parking lot of the casual restaurant Captain Laughlin's, his aunt and uncle practically fell out of the car to get away and Harry wasn't far behind. He offered a sheepish smile as he caught his Uncle Vernon giving him a dirty look. Then he nearly laughed as Dudley waddled around to their side of the vehicle and his uncle gave his cousin the same glare.

"Best behavior," Uncle Vernon intoned sternly, looking from one boy to the other, "best manners, or you won't be coming out with us again for a _long_ while. Understood, boys?"

Dudley, who had been smirking at Harry as he thought that it was him being warned, suddenly straightened up and nodded vigorously, pasting a smile on his face. "Yes, Daddy."

When Vernon looked from his son's angel act to his nephew's mischievous amusement, his eyes narrowed and Harry called forth that hesitant smile again. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

The man sighed, reminding himself that he'd always wanted boys and that keeping them was worth the strain on his nerves. Really, he told himself, he didn't want to trade them in for a nice quiet pair of girls. "Let's go then." He led the way in, shaking his head and hoping they wouldn't squabble through the entire meal. Why Petunia liked _family_ outings was a mystery to him.


	2. Beacon

Chapter 2: Beacon

Harry's shins were sore from being kicked beneath the table by Dudley and he'd been called a baby, a freak and stupid more times in the last hour and a half than he could count. On the good side, he was warm from some cheesy cream soup and a hot turkey sandwich and he was being allowed to order a dessert. His aunt was in a strangely good humor, hardly even sneering at him, and his uncle kept laughing loudly at whatever grown-up things they were talking about, sometimes so much that his stomach would stick out and make the table jiggle. As the waitress brought him his slice of blueberry pie a la mode and Dudley his hot fudge banana split sundae, he actually felt pretty normal.

Taking a bite of the sweet syrupy pie, the thought of normalcy flitted away. _Of course_ he wasn't normal; he should just enjoy things while he could, without thinking silly thoughts like that. As soon as they got home, he'd be a closet monster again.

Looking across the table, his eyes widened as he saw Dudley inhaling his mini-mountain of ice cream at an inhuman rate. It almost made him think that perhaps Dudley had a mystery about him too, only he wasn't smart enough to keep it secret.

"Duddydums, slow down, sweetheart. You can always have seconds."

Uncle Vernon laughed heartily. "Tyke sure puts it away. You wait, Pet, he'll be a champ in sports when he's older. Won't you, son?" Dudley nodded, not pausing in his inhalation, and Uncle Vernon just laughed again at his child's enthusiasm for food.

Harry was just savoring the last bite of his pie as Dudley polished off his second sundae and leaned back, looking over the table as though surprised there wasn't more. When his eyes spied Harry's empty plate, he glared and Harry gave a bright smile. "Thank you for dessert, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Tuna, it was very good," he said in his most polite tone. His aunt sniffed indignantly but his uncle nodded, surprising Harry by reaching out and giving his hair a quick ruffle. Harry smiled at him, thinking that this was turning out to be a pretty good vacation from his cupboard, even if his shins were still sore.

His aunt looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if wavering over something, then gave him an awful tight little smile, one that he knew actually meant she wanted to slap him but couldn't because that wasn't how to act in public. "Harry," she crooned out, "I've told you, darling, it's 'Aunt _Pe_tun_i_a.' You must learn to say these things correctly; you'll be starting school soon. We wouldn't want the other children to laugh at you."

Dudley snorted. "Baby-talker," he mumbled with a smirk.

Harry scowled at Dudley before looking back at his aunt, who was giving him a look similar to those her son often sent at him. He squirmed in his chair, feeling uncomfortable under that gaze which said he was a toy about to get kicked for fun. "Yes," he said cautiously, "sorry, Aunt Tun- um, Aunt Pet Tuna," he finished with a confused look, hoping he'd gotten it right. Really, he'd been calling her Aunt Tuna for years and since she hardly ever said something about it, he didn't want to change his mind on what her name was. She answered to it, didn't she? No one else was going about named Aunt Tuna except her so obviously she knew who he was talking to when he said it.

"Boy," his uncle stated warningly, though still with plenty of good humor showing on his face, "you shouldn't tease your elders and certainly not your aunt. Show some respect."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he said helplessly, still not knowing what all the trouble was about.

"Now, say, '_Pe_-_toon_-_yuh_,'" his uncle enunciated slowly.

"Peh-tuna," Harry repeated obediently.

His aunt rolled her eyes, apparently disappointed in something. "Good enough," she said dispiritedly, "better, at least."

His uncle patted her hand with a smile. "He'll get the hang of it, love. After the boys start school, he'll get more opportunity to learn how to speak properly. That's all it is, Pet, lack of practice."

She huffed. "Yes, well, let's hope that's all it is. You never know, after all the trouble he's nosed into, he could be touched in the head."

Uncle Vernon's eyes widened and he looked back at Harry as though he'd just been told the boy was a chimp.

Worried at his uncle's reaction, he asked, "What's that mean? Touched in the head? Is it bad to touch your head?" He hadn't heard that it was before and now he sat running over all the number of times he'd washed his face, been hit by Dudley, slapped by his Aunt, gotten his hair ruffled - _gotten his hair ruffled!_ He turned wounded eyes onto his Uncle Vernon as he decided that the reason for that display of affection could have been to set him up so that he'd be - wait, he'd forgotten what it was. "What's it _mean_?" he asked more forcefully, sounding panicked.

"Keep your voice down," his uncle hissed. "I'm going to go pay the tab," he said suddenly, as though they hadn't just been talking about Harry's head problems.

"We can just wait for the waitress to-"

"No, no, Pet. I think it's time we get going," he said with a nervous chuckle, fixing Harry with another stare before dashing away.

Harry felt like he was going to - not cry, but maybe crawl under the table and _pretend_ to cry, just for a little while. Just for pretend. He turned to his aunt, frustrated and frightened. "_What's_ wrong with me?"

She sneered fully now, something he hadn't seen all night. "Too many things to mention," she said in a disgusted tone.

He felt his eyes start stinging and bit his bottom lip, trying to only feel angry that his family was playing their trick on him instead of hurt that his nice night had turned into something that would make him glad to get back to his cupboard. She was lying, he decided, there wasn't anything wrong with him at all. When he got back into the dark he'd find a monster in the shadows and tell them all about it. She'd get hers, when he was bigger and living with his monster friends. He raised his chin up defiantly, remembering that even if she wasn't afraid of a little monster like him, there were probably plenty of big monsters he could make friends with who she'd have to be scared of.

"Right, all taken care of Pet," Uncle Vernon said as he came back to the table. He helped her into her coat and then turned to the boys expectantly. Harry trudged out behind the rest of his family with his eyes on the ground, still telling himself that he wasn't bothered by his aunt. He got into the back of the car tiredly and didn't even rise to Dudley's bait of kicking his calves 'accidentally' as he got buckled in. Leaning against the back of the seat, Harry turned his face towards the window and closed his eyes, feeling strangely tired. His uncle started the car and he tried to relax into the momentary peace.

He knew that things could be different, if he could just learn the right secrets, understand enough of what he wasn't supposed to ask questions about. Not silly things like why his aunt was named after a fish, or apparently a pet fish, but important things like where snow came from and who lit the stars at night. If he could just find enough secrets, he'd be able to do anything he wanted. _He_ could turn red like a cardinal bird or breathe underwater like a fish. He could fly up to heaven like the sun.

Swallowing, he tried to just think of the truth of the fluttery feeling he found in the shadows. He didn't need to be wishing for his parents again, not when they wouldn't come and he couldn't cry because he was sitting in a car full of Dursleys. He couldn't investigate the sun until he learned how to fly anyway and he couldn't learn how to fly until he was allowed more time outside to talk to the birds about how they'd grown wings. It was pointless to want something he couldn't have, it distracted him from what mattered, finding the secrets in the dark so he could go live with the other monsters. He was sure that _they_ wouldn't mind if he wanted to talk to the birds for a few hours and maybe climbed a few trees or fell out of a window doing it.

Shutting out everything around him except the lack of light, Harry searched the darkness beneath his eyelids for that special feeling, that fluttering warmth that meant he was right about everything. The secret to traveling in shadows like a monster, the key to his new life...the only route to get his parents back.

He fell into a light doze, only vaguely sensing the comforting warmth he'd been looking for as the car bumped along. It was so nice, like the swirls of water in a hot bath or...

A sharp gasp came from his aunt and his eyes batted open as he woke. When he looked up at the window, he saw blinking lights reflecting off blurry glass and shifted sleepily. He could hear the steady beating of rain against the car roof and the road, almost an echo of the warmth still lapping against his skin. The car was moving very slowly and he looked around in confusion. Dudley was sleeping in the seat next to him. "'ncle Vernon, 're we home?"

"Quiet!" His uncle snapped.

Harry flinched back, coming awake quickly. His uncle was always firm and occasionally bellowed but the man was seldom harsh with him. He tried to sit up higher, wishing he had a better view out the windows. He eyed Dudley speculatively, considering waking the taller boy up to ask him to take a peek.

"Oh, I hope no one was hurt," his aunt said in a tone that made Harry think she was excited at the thought that someone might have been.

"What happened?" Harry whispered, curious but afraid of going against his uncle's demand for quiet.

"Accident," his uncle said more calmly than before, "the roads are slick." He sighed irritably. "We should have gotten the boys home earlier."

"I trust your driving, Vernon," Aunt Tuna said in a cooing tone. "Besides, Duddy enjoyed the park and it was so peaceful to go there at night, without any screaming children running around."

"Park?" Harry asked in a bewildered voice. He was quite sure there had been no trip to the park.

His aunt turned to face him and her smile was all teeth. "You were sleeping."

He felt his heart sink at the lost opportunity to talk to flowers and birds he hadn't met before, though he supposed they'd both all be sleeping at night anyway. Still, it was possible they spoke in their sleep and now he had missed the chance to hear them. Not to mention the squirrels and trees. He frowned, not even caring that his slumped posture was cheering his aunt up at his expense.

His aunt and uncle became grimly silent in the front seat, something he picked up on as his grasping senses lost focus on the soothing cocoon it had been wrapped in for the past few hours. Something was wrong, he knew, but he kept quiet as the car rolled to a stop, all of them waiting for something. He wanted to know how long it would be until they were home but didn't dare break the silence to ask.

A shadow shaped like a man walked up to the driver's side window and knocked. When his uncle rolled the window down a bit, Harry was disappointed to see that it was just a police officer. The man said something about going back the way they came and his uncle blustered about inconvenience and needing to get his wife and boys home out of the weather. In the end, his uncle backed down for some reason and after the officer stepped away and the window was rolled back up, Uncle Vernon said a few bad words that made Harry giggle and then guided the car through a slow u-turn.

The giggling woke up Dudley, who blinked and scowled, never in a good mood to be woken up. "Daddy? What's going on?"

"Detour," his father placated his six year-old son who was quite far from knowing what 'detour' meant, "just a detour."

Dudley scrunched his face up but subsided, more interested in assessing the world as it had changed while he was napping. He quickly found it to be dreary, dull and dark, with nothing to play with except the still-snickering Harry. He glared at his cousin menacingly. "What are _you_ laughing at, four-eyes?"

"Dudley," Harry said in shock, "I didn't know you could count to four!"

"_Boys! _Not now! You keep quiet!"

Dudley stared owlishly at his father, even more surprised at the tone than Harry had been earlier.

Harry leaned over and whispered seriously, "The roads are slick."

Leaning over too, Dudley whispered back, "What's that mean?"

Brow furrowing in a frown, he thought about it. "Slippery," he whispered at last, "like the car could slide."

After a few moments of thought, Dudley's eyes became impossibly wide and he stared at Harry in horror. Turning pale, he stiffly faced forward and asked in a high-pitched voice, "Are we gonna crash, Mummy?"

"What? No! No, Diddydums, of course not. What a silly idea. Daddy's an excellent driver..."

As his aunt continued rambling to Dudley about how safe they were Harry felt almost as tense as his cousin looked. He knew what his cousin had thought as he'd looked at him. Dudley had remembered that the way Harry got orphaned was in a car wreck and had in that moment been terrified that they might switch places. Of course, it wouldn't really be switching since Dudley would probably go live with their Aunt Marge and Harry would...he didn't know where he'd go but it wouldn't be with her, since she hated him, ever since he'd gotten bit by her dog and then pretended to snap back at it once he'd stopped crying, when it wouldn't leave him alone.

He'd be alone. Not just parentless but really, completely by himself in the world. He felt his heart pounding in his ears as his eyes scanned the streams of rain blurring the dark outside and the lines of tension in his family members. They weren't awful, really. He didn't like the cupboard and he wanted to go outside more but they weren't all bad to live with. He felt his chest constrict, making it harder for him to get air into his lungs. Taking in a gulp of air, he looked from the scared face of his cousin to his aunt, who was now eyeing him with something like concern, to the tense shoulders of his uncle as he drove. They were _his_, his family, even if they weren't nice to him. His eyes were burning and he just wanted to _breathe_, why _couldn't_ he? Something, some secret from the far shadows was whispering in his ear as his head spun and its voice sounded awful. It couldn't happen again. He thought he heard his uncle shouting, his aunt squealing something back. The part of his mind that was doing nothing but trying to hear, to listen to the dark, registered his cousin's warble asking what a panic attack was.

He felt the world fading back into shadows, into secrets of hidden creatures. The voice was louder and when his eyes slipped closed for a moment, he thought it sounded familiar. When he opened his eyes again, they were fixed on the rain running down the windshield, his aunt in his peripheral vision. A strange feeling was at his right and when he looked, he saw that it was Dudley, crying.

His uncle bellowed something again. Harry blinked, wondering why he felt they were worried about him when he couldn't even understand what they were saying. Aside from that, they never worried, so it wouldn't make any sense. He tried to raise his hands to his ears, feeling strangely weighed down, as the voice started yelling.

Uncle Vernon was as focused on the road as he could be, with his young nephew having some sort of fit in the backseat. Something about the boy's parents, he'd gathered. It wasn't so unnatural, after being told over a year ago that his parents had died in a car accident, that he would be frightened of riding. Vernon had purposely not mentioned the accident they'd happened upon for that exact reason, thinking that it would upset the boy. Apparently 'slick roads' had still been too much information.

Aunt Tuna was perfectly justified in placing her confidence in her husband's driving and her concern towards her son and nephew. Harry seemed to be having a horrible panic attack and what was worse, it was terrifying Dudley.

Dudley had every right to be terrified.

The last thing Harry saw that night was a bright flickering light coming from the shadows on the other side of the windshield. His uncle's bellows muffled in the background, he passed out as the voice began screaming. The headlights of a truck driving in the wrong lane, their lane, illuminated him as the color was leeched from his skin.


	3. An Angel

Chapter 3: An Angel

"What the hell does he think he's _doing_?" Vernon screamed in an angry panic.

Petunia, looking into the back seat at her blighted nephew having a fit and her sweet baby Dudley gawking at the other boy in fear, was about to answer that what the brat was doing was terrifying her precious Dudders. Then Dudley's gaze shifted forward and his eyes widened even more. By the time she'd whipped her head around, it was almost too late to see what was coming before it hit them.

Several things then occurred in quick succession. Vernon swerved to the right, trying to cross over into the other lane before the collision could occur. Dudley, realizing what was happening, gave a higher pitched scream than he'd ever achieved as a baby. Petunia froze completely as she was suddenly struck with the certainty that she and her entire family were about to die. Harry, the last thought on anyone's mind, developed an unnatural glimmer over his skin as his breathing shallowed out in an exhausted sleep. The truck struck the car on Petunia and Dudley's side, freeing the cry of terror and denial that had been stuck in Petunia's throat.

A bright light enveloped them all, quicker than the crunch of the two car doors giving way to the tremendous force of the other vehicle could register. Even as the windows shattered in their frames and the car was propelled by the impact, the light grew around them, to a blinding proportion. The car spun over the slick road, with Vernon futilely trying to steer into the skid. The result, strangely enough, was a rather smooth hydroplane into the guardrail, which they knocked into with all the detriment a child would expect to find while playing bumper cars. They came to a stop, their hearts still racing as their minds tried to understand what had just happened to them.

Petunia, a mother to the core, was the first to recover. "Duddy! Duddy?" She whirled around to look into the back seat, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the white light that still surrounded them all. Dudley whimpered and her eyes strained as she ran them over the brightly lit form that was shaped like her son and sitting where he should be. Looking down at her own hands, she felt a new jolt of panic as she saw they were in a similar state, though she could make out the tint of her flesh beneath the light. Her husband, sitting beside her and panting in shock, was also lit, brighter than herself but not so brightly as Dudley.

"Mummy," Dudley whined in fear, "are we dead?"

"Are we?" she asked before she could stop herself. Dudley began crying and as she turned back towards him, her eyes caught her nephew and the worry that they were in heaven was quelled. For one thing, she wouldn't expect to see Harry Potter in heaven, if only because seeing him was anything but heavenly for her. More importantly, the sight of him explained everything to her in one word.

Magic. Unlike the rest of them, Harry was not illuminated. No, he was simply shimmering. A sparkly little Christmas bauble of _magic_. Damned thing.

"No, Duddy, we're not dead. Calm down, sweetie, we're just fine. Everything's going to be alright." Dudley continued sobbing, apparently not believing a word of it.

"Pet?" Vernon asked blankly. "What do you make of that?"

She turned back to face her husband, wondering what else her nephew's curse had done. Peering out of the windshield, where her husband was gawking, she saw a pure white, much like what her son sported. It was all around them, no matter where she looked. As she watched it more closely, she noticed it was gradually fading. She shivered, wondering if it was really her nephew's doing or the lights from the other vehicle. Either way, covered as they all were in the taint of Harry's abnormality, it would hardly hurt to investigate. Pulling the door handle, she was startled to find that the door wouldn't open before she chided herself that of course it wouldn't; they'd been clipped by that other car, hadn't they?

Agreeing with her intent, Vernon opened his own door and stepped out into the light.

Petunia felt her heart race in irrational fear as she saw him step out beyond where she could see. She hesitated but then scrambled over the seats and out onto the pavement, cringing back at the unnatural white that surrounded her. "Vernon?"

"Right here, Pet," he said from somewhere to her left, "just step out from the - the thing."

'The thing' was not a very positive concept for Petunia, who knew of any numbers of 'things' that were just too unpleasant to name. Most of them having to do with her sister, 'the thing' Lily had married or 'the thing' passed out in the backseat of her family's car. Taking a deep breath and fortifying herself, she walked out towards the dimming white until she felt something pass straight through her, something pleasantly warm and instantly comforting. For a moment, as she went through, she felt completely safe and at peace.

Coming out to the other side, into the dark and rain, was a rather heavy fall. Her senses reasserted themselves, telling her that of course they weren't safe and nothing was at all well. She saw her husband just standing there in the rain, staring at the car expressionlessly. Running her hands over her arms to fight off the chill of the night, she went to his side, scrutinizing him in concern. She followed his gaze to their vehicle and understood the reason he was staring. "Good lord," fell from her mouth before she knew she was going to say it.

From the outside, the white could be seen as a spherical shield, completely enveloping the vehicle. As the light weakened, so that they could now make out the shape of their car, it looked like an odd light strobe cutting in through fog. Petunia knew better, of course. The entire thing was some sort of radiant magic, produced by her nephew.

"Petunia," Vernon said to gain her attention. He was looking off to the side, to the driver of the truck which had hit them. The other man was standing in the road, alternating between gawking at them, the barrier of light around their family car and the perfectly rounded indent that had been pressed into the corner of his cab, crushing it into a bowl bigger than a wrecking ball. Her eyes stayed on the impression hitting them had made on the truck and she felt things falling into place as she began to get her wits about her.

"We need to leave, Vernon. Before he asks questions."

"It was the boy," he said as though confirming it for himself.

"Yes," she hissed, "that's why we need to go!" She grabbed his arm and pulled at him until he started walking, then hurried ahead and got into the car via the driver's side, hoping he wouldn't waste time in following. As the light dimmed and the world continued to become clearer to her, she looked back once more, to see Harry still asleep, a slight glimmer playing over his pale skin.

Vernon got into the car, at last, soothing her nerves by starting the engine. The shield around them was now dim enough that the headlights outshone it and she could just see the other driver starting to walk over, looking shaken and angry, as Vernon started the car forward in a cautious crawl. 'Hit him,' she didn't say, but oh, how she wanted to. Her _baby_ had nearly been killed by that man. The opportunity to commit vehicular manslaughter was soon lost, as they drove passed the shouting idiot. After clearing the sight of the accident, her mind whirred over just what they should do next. Another glance at Harry told her the magic was fading out of him and she felt something whisper inside her that perhaps it would all just drain away. She sighed, knowing better than to think life could be as simple as that.

Vernon looked in the rearview mirror. "What's wrong with him?"

Mindful of Dudley, she gave a pointed look in their son's direction and then said, "Exhaustion." The clear message was, 'and that's the end of that, Vernon.'

He grunted. "Dudley, are you alright? You're awful quiet."

Indeed, the boy had gone from crying to simply staring around himself dumbly. The night really was turning out to be too much. "Are you sure we aren't dead?" he eventually asked in a pitiful whisper.

"No!" Vernon snapped. "No, we're not dead!"

"'Kay," Dudley agreed, though whether he believed it was questionable.

"Duddy, everything's going to be fine," Petunia said in a tired voice.

"What about Harry?"

The question startled her, as her son hardly ever voiced concern for his 'dweeby baby cousin,' as he'd dubbed Harry. "He's fine," she said unsurely.

"He didn't wake up," Dudley pointed out, as though using it to accuse her of lying.

She shared a glance with her husband and then improvised, confident Vernon would back up her words. "Duddy, Harry hasn't been feeling well lately. He's just very tired. He needs his rest."

"He's sick?" her son squawked.

"Yes," she said in relief, "just a little sick. Like when you had a cold last spring and just wanted to sleep, remember? Nothing to be worried about." Leaning back against her seat, she hoped she wouldn't have to eat her words. From what she remembered of the few times Lily had used every last drop of her magic in some blasted experiment, magical exhaustion could be plenty to worry over.

Vernon cleared his throat, darting his eyes to the rearview mirror again. "Perhaps we should drop him at the doctor's soon, Pet?"

"No," she said firmly, "he'll be fine at home. Plenty of sleep and fluids," she reluctantly prescribed, "that's all he'll need. Oh, and vitamins. His system will be cleared of most nutrients. They get used up very quickly," she said as she remembered the process of the condition's infliction, "all of their body's resources are used to produce the energy they need."

There was a moment of silence in the car as Dudley and Vernon both reached their separate understandings of what she was saying.

"So then," her husband said awkwardly, "lots of food and sleep. And fluids. Juice. Right." He nodded noncommittally and she wondered if he was having as difficult a time with the idea of caring for the little monster as she was. Probably not, he'd always had a bit of a soft spot for the wretched thing.

She laughed then, slightly hysterical, as she recognized her thoughts. Wretched thing. The little monster. That damned _freak_, she didn't know what to think of him now.

Vernon had said it. She couldn't believe it but of course it was true.

The boy had saved them. While he could have easily shielded only himself, which would have been a natural response, he had instead used every last drop of energy to ensure that all of them were protected. In his sleep, no less. From what she knew of the magic young freaks used, it was somewhat intuitive and instinctively reacted to provide its host with what they wanted, eerily sentient. It was disgusting to think about, this foreign thing living beneath people's skin, crawling out and seeping into the world whenever they had a whim.

"What was all that light, Mummy?"

Her son was alive because of the freak. She could have cried and later on she probably would. Harry had wanted them to live and that filthy parasite living in him, this _magic_ that would eat him up one day, had served his wish and saved their lives. Her stomach was churning so much that she nearly asked Vernon to stop the car.

"Mummy?"

How to explain? 'Your cousin's a freak' wouldn't do at all. Telling him about magic was out of the question, she wouldn't abide such nonsense in her home, they'd get it out of her nephew yet and then there wouldn't have been any reason to explain to Dudley. The taint of Lily's little fairy world had marred her life for decades and she wasn't about to let it touch Dudley, not while she was still breathing.

"What was it?" he asked again in a plaintive whine.

What could it have been? If she didn't already know what it was then what would she call it?

"Daddy," Dudley moved on, "do you know what it was?"

Vernon looked in the rearview mirror again, from the now deathly pale Harry to his rosy cheeked son. "Miraculous," he said plainly.

"Yes," Petunia agreed with a relieved smile, "it must have been Divine Intervention."

"Huh?" Dudley asked with his head quirked to the side.

"An angel, sweetheart," she simplified, "it was an angel's work."

As Dudley mulled over this answer, her husband's eyes flickered up to the mirror automatically and Petunia pretended he was only looking to see if their son would believe her, and not seeking out the sight of Harry.

* * *

AN: **InzanityRulz**, this chapter should answer your question, for now. Of course, everyone has to die _sometime_. **Shikamayuki**, zomg, don't worry! This isn't going to be abandoned. I've got nearly the whole thing planned out so abandonment would be all kinds of crazy. 


	4. Adaptation

Chapter 4: Adaptation

Number Four Privet Drive was falling into a deceptive quiet. Petunia was putting her only son to bed and he was no less recalcitrant than usual but a good measure more serious. Harry was seemingly asleep on the living room couch; his Aunt Tuna had stared at the door to his cupboard for a long moment but after catching her husband's forbidding look, she had simply shaken her head and begun cooing at Dudley as the start of the battle to put him to sleep.

Vernon was sitting in the kitchen staring at his clasped hands, deep in thought. He'd been raised with the firm lesson that a Dursley was a strong and practical creature and he took the examples set by his elder family members quite seriously. Very little could rattle a Dursley, perhaps owed in part to their girth and that the females of the family, though he'd never say so in front of his mother, had claws so long that once they were dug in there was no shaking them off. Indeed, Vernon was a man of no little measure of fortitude and it required quite the anomaly to make him feel out of control.

An anomaly, as it happened, had just occurred that very night and the significance of it wrought a familiar feeling. _This has happened before,_ his mind was insisting, _I've felt just this before._

A baby, tired and chilled from the November night air he'd been abandoned to, had once gazed up at him with curious bright green eyes, as it had lain placidly in a nest of blankets set upon the very same table he was sitting at now. His wife had been a hysterical mess, caught between fury and grief over the happenings of the morning. Vernon's eyes had wandered to the greatest source of her distress, feeling an irrational resentment towards the baby for disrupting the carefully maintained order in his life. As he turned over in his mind the matter of what to do with the unexpected intrusion, he'd locked gazes with the child and had a queer feeling creep through him. _It's only a baby,_ he'd thought, _the most uncommon things about him are his scar and lack of parents._ _Yes, Harry Potter looks harmless enough. It's that disorder sleeping in him that's the problem._ Those verdant eyes had held an engaging innocence in them and though he wouldn't know it for a few more weeks, in that short moment of silently assessing his nephew, he'd started upon the path of growing fond of the little blighter. After all, he had always wanted a house's worth of boys and here was one conveniently dropped on the door step.

Thinking over the past four years, his knuckles whitened as he clasped them together more tightly than before, as though to ward off his tension. Petunia disliked the child, that had been made quite clear in her consistent neglect of him. It had fallen to him to ensure that the boy was fed, clean and safe, as his wife would often 'forget' the second baby in their home. Keeping the bouncing brat alive had quickly proved a more arduous task than he could have imagined, as Harry would nose into so much trouble it was ridiculous. _Too_ much trouble, and eventually he had all but given up on him, allowing his wife's say to take precedent as the boy grew less dependent over the years. The cupboard under the stairs was where his nephew had ended up, for the boy's own safety. Most of the time, Vernon thought of Harry with loathing and deep disappointment, telling himself that he had done his best by the child and that perhaps he really was just hopeless, as his wife and sister had always believed.

Secretly, so much so that he hardly ever knew of it himself, he felt a weighing guilt and sadness over his inability to cure that seemingly normal baby of whatever abnormality it was that corrupted him.

Tonight, his scruffy little nephew's strange disease had saved the entire Dursley family. Really, _Harry_ had saved them, in his sleep. They did their best to stifle his..._magic_ from growing, making sure he never had too much food or personal liberty and trying their best to keep odd ideas out of the boy's head - all for his own good but Vernon knew that for a five year old boy, it was a painfully dull life that they'd inflicted upon him. In spite of all the measures they took to stomp the magic out, it seemed to still be there, stronger than Vernon had ever imagined it could be. Had they deprived him of full meals and children's stories all for nothing? Dudley, in comparison, had an insatiable appetite for both food and fiction, though he greatly preferred television to books, and Vernon and Petunia indulged their little boy endlessly. That rare guilt gnawed at him as he considered not for the first time that Harry had no way of understanding why he was given so much less, besides the obvious reasoning that he was only a nephew, while Dudley was his aunt and uncle's _son_. Of course, this reasoning held true, even if it was not why Vernon turned a blind eye to Dudley's pilfering of Harry's dinner plate. Refusing to feed his magic was what Petunia called it. _Starve his mind, _he thought, _starve his body, the magic will die. Well, that hasn't held up at all, has it?_

Personal possessions, he knew, were another area wherein Harry was deprived but that was hardly something Vernon felt guilt over. Dudley was always complaining that his cousin had broken his toys and Petunia regularly snipped that the hand-me-downs Harry received never stayed in good shape for more than a week. Certainly, every time he saw the boy his clothes were stained and ragged and the only toys he ever saw him playing with were badly broken. He wasn't about to waste _new_ things on such a destructive brat.

Then there was the cupboard matter - as much of a disaster and danger to himself as the boy was, Vernon still felt that they'd done right by leaving him in there, especially as he considered that for a year, there had been no more disturbing adventures such as crawling into the cupboard under the sink, where they kept cleaning chemicals which could kill the stupid boy, because he was 'looking for Pad-da' or climbing out a window 'to play with da birdie.' Between witnessing near-death experiences and the barmy babbling which then attempted to explain them away, the boy used to scare him on a regular basis and Dursleys do not handle fear well. Still, Harry had once slept in a crib in a regular bedroom, as Vernon had insisted to his wife that if the boy were going to stay with them, then they were going to raise him to be _normal_ and it certainly wasn't normal to put a baby in the basement as she had wanted. Though he was bitter over having wasted his breath in his arguments, he often consoled himself that a ground floor storage closet was still better than the basement.

Now, he had to wonder just how the boy had taken it all. Harry had a curious mind and much to Vernon's mortification, would sometimes voice very strange ideas; there was no telling what went on in the child's head and he wasn't exactly eager to know. However the boy understood the world, it was clear that in spite of the strictness he faced in the Dursley household, Harry still considered them family or else his abnormality would not have strained his body so severely in an effort to protect them all as completely as possible. As Petunia had once scathingly described, _magic_ was parasitic and would protect its host, which was how Harry had survived his tumble out the window when he was four. The only thing that overpowered the disease's tendencies was the will of its host. This left Vernon with the conclusion that Harry's desire to protect his family was greater than his _magic's_ survival instincts, which he'd already seen were quite powerful and lightning quick in response.

Dead asleep and more pale than Vernon thought the living ought to be, Harry was obviously drained of energy and strength and as his eyes strayed from his hands to the wood of his kitchen table and back, he was quite aware of the pull he felt to look through the doorway into the living room where the boy slept, to go into the hall and try to stare through the door of Harry's cupboard again, as though he could find all his answers there. He felt as though he'd awakened to a stranger's life and the motions of it were painfully awkward to go through.

Tonight, he had heard his delicate wife and precious only son scream in terror for their lives. He had been completely powerless to protect them and in the moment before collision, he'd been overcome by emotions deeper than he'd ever known as he quickly understood what was happening. The love of his life, his darling Pet who was such a practical and intelligent woman and had fit in so easily among the Dursley family, was about to be lost. His only child, the playful and rambunctious baby boy he and Petunia had wanted for so long and cherished so much, was facing an imminent, unfair death before being allowed real life. In an instant, all he knew was that everything he loved and lived for was about to die. Then the light.

Harry Potter had saved them at the risk of his own life. The world had changed its axis.

A Dursley is always a practical creature. Maintaining order was a priority, of course, but once that order is disrupted it is only sensible to _reorder_ things into a respectable manner, as efficiently as possible. Adaptation is simply a practical skill.

Thus Vernon, irrevocably Dursley to his soul, sat quietly at his kitchen table and contemplated matters in as comprehensive a fashion as he could, while his darling Pet put their Dudley to sleep safe in his room and his trouble-loving nephew slept insensate to the new world.

**

* * *

**

Flying, sinking, stiffly floating through a boundless world, Harry was minimally aware that something had changed. He felt he was missing something which he hadn't known could be apart from himself. It was as though he were deeply hungry for the first time, for something so much more important than food. Beneath this awareness of need, images moved through the coils of his mind, teasing him with colors and shapes he'd never find in his cupboard. Buried away from the suffocated panic inside him, Harry was sheltered in a dream.

Deep blues, ones he'd only ever seen in a darkening evening sky, were all around him, trembling in waves of living color. To his left, in the distance, were the blurred shapes of monsters, black and brown, one with great horns upon its head and all watching him. Waiting for him, weren't they? Mrs. Figg's cats were sitting a bit off to his right and the slate grey one, Mr. Nibbles, blinked his pale silver eyes at Harry, smug as always as he taunted that he knew something Harry didn't. He bit his tongue and tried not to scowl at the feline. He liked cats, they had too many secrets for him not to, but playing their game could get so frustrating sometimes. Looking off into the distance, he tried to make sense of the swirls of reds and greens on the horizon, the buzz of nonsense noises starting in his ears.

Fluttering sounded from overhead and he looked up as a sparrow who he knew better than most of the other birds on the block flew down to him and landed on his shoulder. A pleased smile lit upon his face as he felt a rush of joy. He'd been trying to tame the silly bird for the longest time. He brought a finger up and gently stroked the fluffed up feathers of the sparrow's wings. This was the same little bird who had shamelessly lured him out of his bedroom window once but he couldn't help but to feel fond of the mischievous thing.

Remembering the window inspired a familiar feeling of dread and he abruptly froze. Was he in trouble again?

The bird chirped and Harry shook his head. No, of course not, there wasn't any trouble to be had when the monsters were near. They'd protect him if Aunt Tuna got mad. He sought them out again and smiled as he saw their forms tangling in a blur of browns and black. They were playing again, weren't they Mummy? Such clowns.

Content, Harry turned his attention back to petting the sparrow. Cats were amazing secret keepers but that was the trouble, they never told. Birds, on the other hand, would sing their riddles to him from dawn to dusk and all Harry need do was solve them. He hadn't solved any great mysteries yet but he could still appreciate that the game they played was much fairer than the one cats presented. He patiently listened to a familiar bird song, something he thought had to do with what a silly, sad boy he was for not having wings, waiting for that moment of understanding the elusive mystery of just how he could learn to fly.

A deep bark interrupted his concentration and he shook his head. _No, Pad-da, I'm not playing with you again._ The furry black monster always hid too well for Harry to find. He'd only end up in trouble with his uncle again. Harry frowned, thinking that it was almost always his Uncle Vernon who found him and he rather wished it wasn't, since the man always looked so tired and disappointed as he intruded on Harry's monster hunts. It wasn't as though he'd ever invited him to ruin his search; his uncle didn't have to act as though he were the one put out about it all. As he looked over to find Pad-da and tell him to go back to play with the other monsters, he was startled to see that the friendly nuisance was still playing with the two larger monsters in the distance. Darting his eyes about nervously, he gasped as he saw something before him which he had never seen outside from his mind.

It was great and black like Pad-da but that was where the similarities ended. A snake, he knew, or at least thought so. He'd only ever seen pictures of such animals, in one of the few picture books Dudley liked. His cousin would show him the photographs and talk about how the slender scaled creatures could eat Harry up in a snap. Sitting on the carpet in the living room, he'd thought it was the dumbest lie Dudley had ever tried to scare him with. After all, his cousin had said the same thing about monsters, hadn't he?

This animal, larger than he'd known a snake could grow to be, probably really could eat him up if it wanted to. The shimmery black form was loosely coiled but its body was thick enough that Harry thought it was likely stronger than him, as most thick things, such as his cousin and uncle, tended to be. Looking into the pure black eyes, Harry immediately doubted that it would harm him. There was something familiar about it, as though he'd seen and forgotten it a thousand times before. He stood with a false air of calm, staring transfixed into its gaze; this was a new keeper of secrets and his heart raced as he sensed the mysteries it held in its fascinating form. He swallowed as he prepared to start his interrogation.

He couldn't wait to learn what sort of game a snake would play.

AN: **Shikamayuki,** thank you muchly for the review and cookies. ;) **Caldonya,** I'm very glad you mentioned liking the look at Harry's thoughts too as I've been concerned that they come across as too incoherent. **choirsinger,** I'm sorry to disappoint you but the day he'll get his letter is very, very far off and in spite of this, I already know _exactly_ how I'm going to handle its arrival. I hope you can stand the wait. ;) **petitesorcieres,** I'm thrilled you love it. I know it's odd to have Vernon like Harry but he does also resent him at the same time so perhaps it balances. I firmly believe that canonically, Vernon is a good man at heart, simply driven spare by the need to protect his family. **InzanityRulz,** I'm tickled you liked it. To my **Anonymous** reviewer, I'm keeping in mind that Petunia is the sort of woman who will guard a grudge with her life.

Thank you all for reading.


	5. Lasting Marks

Chapter 5: Lasting Marks

Dudley stood in the hall outside from the kitchen, trying to hear whatever he could through the keyhole. He always had an ear out for any peculiar business his parents might be on about, as at any moment an opportunity could come for him to get something out of it. Lately he'd had a great deal more listening to do; ever since The Angel Incident, it seemed the house had been turned on its head. His parents were constantly arguing in hushed voices and shooting him nervous glances whenever they caught him paying attention. His mother would give him a cookie before sending him off to play with his toys, so of course he made sure to be caught out at least twice a day. Normally he'd just be content to have found a new method of getting sweets but in this case, for the first time in his memory, there was something more important for him to think about than food or even television.

"...can't be more careful-"

"...not exactly easy!"

He knew what his parents were arguing about.

It had been three and a half days since The Angel Incident in the car and though he'd at first wondered if all that funny warm light had been the work of aliens, like any rational telly watcher would believe, he was now convinced of his mother's explanation. Mostly, at least. When they'd gotten home that night, he'd asked her about angels and she had told him that they were heavenly beings, whatever that meant, who lived up in the clouds watching over people on earth, which sounded an awful lot like aliens to him, and protected and rewarded the good while punishing the bad. Since he didn't think aliens really cared about good or bad, except concerning what was good or bad for themselves, angels were the best explanation he had for what was happening in his home.

"-_resilient_, Vernon!"

"-such a thing as common _decency_, Pet!"

"Oh," the angry hiss came from behind the door, "_don't_ you tell me I haven't done right by that terror-"

Something was horribly wrong with his dweeby baby cousin and though Dudley didn't like the smaller boy, he was deeply bothered by the knowledge that it was his fault. His mother had said angels punished people for being bad, which Dudley constantly accused Harry of, and protected the good little boys, which Dudley was now fretful he himself wasn't. It appeared that angels only watched earth for part of the time, as he'd fooled them as well as his parents. While he and his Mummy and Daddy had all come home safe and sound after The Angel Incident, Harry had somehow become sickly and would not wake. Thinking Harry was as bad as Dudley complained he was, the angels must have punished him.

"-patience with him."

"I _am_ patient. I tell you, I don't know _how_ he got it, but it wasn't from me!"

"Of course, Pet, must have gotten an accidental knock is all."

"Are you mocking me?"

"Now, love-"

Dudley had tried to wake him up, of course. He had snuck into the guestroom, where his parents had moved his cousin after the first day he'd slept through, and he had done his best to rouse Harry. Going through the usual things which woke the dumb baby up, he'd told him there were monsters under the bed, threatened to eat all his breakfast, poked him in the stomach, called him a freak, tugged his hair, pinched his arm as hard as he could and punched him in the shoulder. Those last two he now regretted, as judging by his parents' sniping, the unexpected bruises were still showing. Normally, Harry was actually rather hard to hurt, as Dudley knew quite well since hurting Harry was something he thought himself an expert in. Getting a mark onto his cousin's tough skin was a matter which would have him crowing for hours but the catch of it was a bruise never lasted more than a night on Harry, just as scrapes and cuts always healed faster for him than they did for Dudley. The idea of those blue smudges still being on his cousin's skin two days after Dudley had hit him was surprisingly nauseating when combined with the knowledge that there really shouldn't have been a trace of them left, since it was _Harry_.

"-agreed he can't help the disease he has."

"I _know_, Vernon, I know. It doesn't change that he _has it_."

"...said...perfectly safe..."

"...more..._corrupt_ a child..._not_ my baby, Vernon! _Not_..."

They were whispering again, which was a bit annoying since it meant that whatever they were chewing over now, it was important. Then again, they didn't know that Dudley already knew the big secret. He'd had more than three days of listening in and of course his parents weren't always so cautious. It was very obvious to him what all the upset was about; why Harry wouldn't wake up and his body wouldn't heal, why his parents had moved him into the guestroom to sleep and his Mummy spent so much time taking care of him, why they kept smiling at him shakily and explaining that Harry was just a bit sick and needed his rest. Dudley wasn't stupid.

Harry was dying.

**

* * *

**

Snakes or perhaps only this snake in particular, played a very peculiar game indeed. It was an entrancing puzzle game of motion wrapped up in something deeper, which felt much like staring into the dark trying to find shapes. Harry found himself strangely content to look into the creature's eyes and simply search, as he had done in the shadows of his cupboard for countless hours before. Now and then, the smooth black form would rise, slither, twist...advance, retreat, a dance of truth and deceit which he thought was quite like the riddles of a bird's song. Familiar with silent mysteries, as he had valiantly tried to outwait plants and shadows many times, he was not at all deterred by the fact that his new secret holder did not make any noise beyond the sliding of its scales against each other. No, instead he was simply excited by how much it was willing to tell him, in its complex movements and deep black eyes.

He knew, based on several earlier lunges, that he was being mildly threatened - mildly, as he still found nothing frightening in those dark eyes. There was also the matter of how soothing the sound of scales sliding together sounded to his ears. After he had sat down upon the ground to inspect the snake at eye-level, the animal had seemed to calm some. Considering that the creature had reared up tall and straight before feigning its strikes and Harry himself had been standing much taller and straighter than he thought the snake could, he understood that pretty well. Having his Aunt Tuna stand over him made him nervous, too.

It had circled him then, slowly wrapping its long body around where he sat and he hadn't been able to help giggling at the fluttery feel of those writhing scales beneath his fingers when he'd reached out. Coiled about Harry as though providing the boy with a nest, it had then raised its head and met his eyes, with an expression he thought looked lazy, curious and warning all at once. Lazy in the body, perhaps. A burning curiosity in those fathomless eyes. Constant warning in the shape of its jaws.

For the first time, Harry wondered whether other monsters besides himself walked in daylight. He was one, yet he looked just like a little boy, didn't he? Perhaps a monster could look like a snake as well? His brow furrowed in thought as he considered that perhaps the smug cat Mr. Nibbles was a monster as well.

As he held the snake's stare, thoughts of self-satisfied cats and friends in disguise faded behind the infinite maze provided by the pure black. _Rest_, the eyes suggested, and _why_, they asked, as though wanting him to answer what he was. _Ease_, the warming body wrapped about his legs coaxed, _easy_.

Eyes flickering briefly to the line of the snake's mouth once more, Harry thought that he understood another message after the last. _Easy prey_, he thought, and as he met those eyes again and saw a small, smooth motion of its head that reminded him of a smile, he choked out a laugh at the joke, though he couldn't grasp just why it was funny instead of scary.

**

* * *

**

Sitting upon his bed, Dudley stared out his window into the clouded evening sky. He didn't dare glare, not with the chance that the angels were watching him, but he certainly wanted to. It was such a horrible thing for them to have done, deciding to kill Harry for all the things Dudley had done and then blamed on him. Every waking moment since he'd figured it out, he had felt tainted by the anger and fear swirling within him. As he saw it, sentencing Harry to death had been the same as declaring Dudley deserved to die as well, since it was really all his crimes that were being judged. On one hand, he knew it wasn't fair for Harry to be punished but on the other, he had been shoving blame off onto the other boy for as long as he could remember and he hardly felt like breaking the habit now, when the consequences were actually life and death rather than new toy or not.

He didn't like Harry anyway. The boy was disgustingly twig-thin, baby-voiced and strange-minded. Harry didn't even like television much, the twit. The most good Dudley got out of living with his cousin was that he always had a scapegoat handy.

It was also a bit fun teasing him, he had to admit. Stomping down the stairs over his head was something Dudley looked forward to each morning. Taunting him always made him feel better about himself, as if he was reminding them both that he really was the better child, better loved and wanted. Once in awhile, he'd even say something the other boy had no smart answer to and then he'd feel like he'd lived for that moment, that perfect time of complete superiority over his cousin, who normally had a comeback for everything.

Making Harry angry was great entertainment, too. His eyes would blaze and he'd give the fiercest look, like he was just barely keeping himself from attacking him. He'd ball up his fists and his shoulders would rise as he puffed up his scrawny chest. It was the look of a wet and harassed cat and Dudley thought it was the funniest sight in the world, since he knew that there wasn't a thing his cousin, his so very _little_ cousin, could do to him.

Yes, it was occasionally nice to have him around but that didn't change anything. He still didn't like him. He _wouldn't_ miss him.

His nails dug into his fists and he bit his lip to keep from crying. He _wouldn't_ miss him, really. Not at all. It would just be odd, since he was so used to having him around, for that bitter companionship to suddenly be gone.

He heard the light steps of his mother coming up the stairs and considered crying after all, wailing and screaming until everything was fixed again. Then she went into the guestroom, where Harry was, and for the first time in his life Dudley thought himself selfish.

**

* * *

**

Rest and ease were actually rather welcome suggestions to him with his calming new snake friend wrapped about him. He'd have to find a way to ask its name, as he now felt that they _were_ friends and it would be nice to have something proper to call it. When he had sleepily told the snake that his own name was Harry, it had darted out its tongue in response, which was one gesture he didn't know how to interpret at all. They were now lying lazily on the floor of swirled dark blues, the snake draped this way and that like the most bizarre blanket Harry could dream up, short of one made exclusively of polka dots.

As he mumbled to his new friend about the fun and frustration found in shadow secrets, cat mysteries, bird riddles and, no offense, but snake puzzles as well, it played beneath the surface of his thoughts that he was so unusually tired, as though he'd spent a day and night working only to fall into the demands of a new day right after. His whole body felt heavy with sleep and as he laid his head down upon his folded arms, he rather hoped the snake wouldn't mind the stop in conversation. It was just so pleasantly warm, he couldn't help but drift.

A buzzing filled his ears, a noise he couldn't place resounding through him. Whatever it was, he hated it.

Muttering. His head snapped up and he looked around himself nervously, then flinched as he registered that everything had changed. How long had he been asleep for? All that was blue was now a pinkish purple that made his eyes ache. He was alone now, the monsters had gone and so had his friend.

Friend? He shook his head at himself. He didn't have any friends, not unless he counted all of the fellow monsters he hadn't yet met. Still, there had been something, hadn't there? Something new. He recalled feeling fascinated. Had he met a new type of flower? He was sure he'd remember...if the world would stop shifting.

He closed his eyes again, not wanting to see any more of the burning color which surrounded him now. So much trouble, he was going to be in so much trouble, just like his mother.

There was a splash of water from directly in front of him and he became aware of his breathing, as it was suddenly labored. He took in a breath of thin, sweet smelling air and wondered how everything around him could be so warm and soft when he felt so miserable. Something rough rubbed at his scalp, as though in response to his mental complaint, and he let out a whimpery groan of discontent.

"...driving me spare, wretched little devil, just the same as she did."

_Ah, that explains it. The muttering was,_ "Aun' Tuna?"

All noise ceased and he felt as though the already stubborn air had just grown a bit thicker.

"Harry?" she asked in a voice so unsteady he hardly knew it as hers. If he didn't know better, he'd think she was worried. Then it occurred to him that of course she was worried, as he'd just caught her talking to herself, which was a habit he knew she scorned.

He blinked his eyes open at his own pace, still ending up feeling half-blinded by the light. Once his sight had adjusted, he saw a pinkish purple blur hovering over him in roughly the same shape as his aunt.

"Oh," she breathed, "oh good."

She certainly sounded relieved, which just made things all the more strange. Shifting disorientedly, he panicked briefly before realizing that he was reclining in the bathtub. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember what had last happened. Had he fallen asleep in the bath? But the water was still so warm and why was Aunt Tuna relieved? Had she thought he'd drowned? He looked up at the painfully bright blur speculatively. If he _had_ drowned, would she care this much? She ran a hand over his hair without warning and he ducked down a bit, eyes wide. Something was seriously wrong.

Suddenly gripping his hair in her hand far less gently, she snapped, "Behave yourself, boy, and keep still! I'm not going to be taking any trouble from you, so you just mind yourself. Your hair needs a wash and it's going to get it."

Oh, that made more sense. His aunt was yelling at him because he was filthy, a complaint she voiced repeatedly, and she had to give him a bath, a task she hated and often encouraged him to tend to himself or left for his uncle to handle, as it meant that she actually had to touch him. As well as he knew that his Aunt Tuna hated touching him, a fact made hard to miss by her looks of disgust, he also knew that _he_ hated it far more, since she always made sure to show how much she loathed the contact by being rough with him. "I can do it," he quietly volunteered, wanting to spare himself from her attention.

"You can't even see," she dismissed impatiently, and then she began working something soothingly cool into his hair and scalp.

Struck speechless by the unexpected care she was taking, he decided not to push his luck. Besides, he still felt incredibly tired and wasn't sure he really could do it himself. If there was one thing worse than failure to take up a task it was being unable to complete one he'd started; Aunt Tuna would be furious and then she might just go and rip his hair out.

After a moment she asked, "How are you feeling?"

Harry blinked. He'd never been asked that before. The closest thing to it was when he'd have a monster search interrupted by his uncle, who would sometimes then ask if anything was hurting him or if he was feeling dizzy or nauseous before he'd start yelling at him. Of course, all those times the answer had been that he was fine. Didn't Aunt Tuna enjoy it when he was miserable anyway? He'd make her happy then and tell the truth. "Tired. 'S like can't breathe." Wondering what other misery he could add, he took stock of himself and became aware of a strange feeling of loss. He _wanted_, for something he couldn't name but had always had before. "Hungry," was the only way he could describe it.

There was a moment of silence in which he wasn't sure whether he was about to be dragged out of the tub and thrown into his cupboard or not. Then she said, "I'll fix you a bowl of soup after your bath," and he decided that he was dreaming.

"'Kay," he said agreeably as he closed his eyes again, "thanks, Aun' Tunia."

The last thing he heard as he fell asleep was his aunt sighing in disgust and muttering, "I _knew_ you could say _Petunia_, you blasted little..."

* * *

AN: **Skippy Agogo,** thank you and I do hope you enjoy where I take this. **sanyal,** indeed it is fun, perhaps in part because a child's eyes can so easily find magic and mystery in what an average adult would consider the mundane. While there will be some significant touches of Shakespeare in Harry's life once he's older, the title for this story actually comes from a line in the first draft I wrote of the chapter wherein Harry and the Dursleys will together confront the notion of Hogwarts. I'd elaborate further on either point but I don't want to spoil anything. The phrase stuck in my head and since then I've come to attach several connotations to it. **David305,** thank you, 'wonderful' and 'writing' are certainly two words I enjoy seeing put together. To my **Anonymous** reviewer, goodness gracious what a splendid review! I can't recall having read many developed Vernons in fanfiction either, unless one counts complex psychosis, which perhaps one should. I'm very relieved to read that I hit the Dursley adults on the nose - sorry, I mean something about a hammer and nail, of course - in showing their struggle with the concept. Indeed, the cupboard matter is just waiting, that patient elephant to the left.

Thank you all for reading.


	6. Twisting

Chapter 6: Twisting

Sneaking past the bathroom door, where he could hear water sloshing and the low muttering of his Mummy scolding Harry, which was a bit low, since his cousin was sleeping, but nothing new, since he was _Harry_, Dudley continued on to the stairs with less caution.

Watching the telly was the only solution Dudley could think of to his problems. Not the problem of Harry dying and Dudley being responsible, of course. No, just the more important matter that he couldn't stop thinking about it and that doing so made him positively sick with fear and guilt. Television, he instinctively remembered, was the solution to whatever might bother him in his head; it required no thinking and could easily be used to obliterate all existing thoughts. He'd used it to shut his brain up a lot back when Harry used to cry and scream about being under the stairs, the dumb baby.

_Not thinking about the dweeb, there's a new episode of-_ His plans were dashed as he stepped into the entranceway and heard the low drone of the news. Going into the living room, he found his father sitting in his armchair watching the screen, just as he'd feared. Dudley hadn't yet won a fight against news-watching and it was absolutely the most boring thing anyone could find on television. Why any adult would want to watch it was beyond him.

"Dudley, you should be getting to bed soon."

His eyes snapped to his father, surprised to be talked to during the 'important business of the world.' "Yes, Daddy." His father nodded, then slowly turned back to face the screen. Dudley took a seat on the couch, not really able to pay attention to the program but unwilling to go back to his room and continue feeling awful with nothing to distract him. At least there were still commercials.

"Terrible crime," his father said in a sad voice.

Dudley's heart dropped into his stomach. "Wha?"

His father gestured to the news. "That young man," he said before stopping and shaking his head, "better you don't pay attention, Dudley. There are some things a boy shouldn't have to understand."

He nodded, agreeing with this entirely. There were a great _many_ things he didn't wish to understand, from writing to maths and government. _All_ of it was boring, complicated and pointless. He didn't know _what_ he was going to do when he was made to go to school but he _sure_ wasn't going to let them make him learn all that.

_Bet Harry'll fit in, the stupid baby loved all those spelling and maths games._ He snorted, unknowingly contributing to his father's false opinion that he had a socially aware son, as he thought of how giving the toys and flash cards to Harry had been the ultimate insult to his mother, who had never bought him anything educational since. _The look on her face wouldn't've been better if I'd thrown them away._

He could just picture the little freak answering stupid questions right, getting ideas about being better than Dudley, until Dudley would start ripping his papers in half and telling all the other kids about what a weak baby his cousin was. Yes, he could picture school as being just a bit fun, if it included making Harry get that angry helpless look he loved to see. Then he remembered, and pictured himself going into a classroom alone, sitting surrounded by kids he didn't know, because wouldn't Harry be dead by then?

His throat closed and he clenched his jaw to stay the tears out of what was becoming a habit. Normally he wouldn't mind putting on a show but in this case he couldn't explain what was wrong without getting into trouble himself and this was the sort of trouble which he wouldn't be able to get out of.

He picked his head up as that thought struck him and he wondered if there _was_ a way out. Taking a few steady breaths through his mouth as he turned it over, he faced his father. "Daddy?"

Eyes roaming from the screen to his son, he gave a slight nod. "Hm?"

"How can people make up for being bad?"

His father's eyes widened. He turned to face Dudley fully and then leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands in front of him. His mouth opened and closed around several false starts before he asked, "Where in the world did you get that question?"

"I dunno," he said before remembering the best excuse, "telly."

"Ah. Oh. Well, son," his father said gravely, "there are some things in this world which are too atrocious to be atoned for."

Dudley blinked. "Is that like a fruit or something?" He really hoped his father wasn't about to dodge him with some nonsense grown-up answer.

"Er, um," he cleared his throat, "no, no it means very bad, son. _Very,_ very bad. Moreso than you could imagine."

_Oh._ "Like getting someone killed?"

"Yes, like that."

"And what's 'atone?'"

"Make up for."

"Oh." He felt his heart wilt. "What about little things? Like," he quickly thought of things he'd blamed Harry for, "stealing toys? Or breaking them? Or trampling a flowerbed?"

His father barked a laugh. "Children don't need to worry about those things, Dudley, they're always forgiven."

That, Dudley knew, was a lie. "No, they're not," he said solemnly, appearing more serious than a six year old should.

Narrowing his eyes at being contradicted by a child, and _his_ child no less, Vernon affirmed in a childish fashion himself, "Yes, they are." He then sighed, wanting to put his boy's mind at ease. But before he could open his mouth with a platitude, his son got a mulish expression and pressed on.

"_No,_ they _aren't!_ Harry was bad and you and Mummy have _never_ forgiven him. If you _had,_ he wouldn't still sleep in the cupboard!"

His father stared.

"So children _aren't_ always forgiven!" Dudley finished, feeling more impatient than triumphant.

For a moment, Vernon had no words. Then all the reasons he and Petunia had for keeping Harry under the stairs came rushing back. As he looked at his obstinate son, he knew that adult logic would make little sense to him and so he summed it up with, "Your cousin is a very special case. Your Mummy and I are doing the best we can for him. Leave it to the grown-ups, eh Dudley?" The joking note at the end did not go over as expected with his normally easy-going child.

_"No,"_ Dudley said, as he seemed to be saying more and more, "I need to know, Daddy, how people make up for those things. There _has_ to be a way."

"Hem." Vernon sat back in his chair, feeling almost out of sorts before he got a hold of himself again. "Well, it depends on what the person's done, I suppose." He darted a suspicious look at Dudley, wondering just which of his wife's trinkets had gotten broken and how. "Breaking something, for instance. The best thing to do is to replace it or pay for it. If the person can't pay, they can work the debt off. Another option is repairing it."

"What if it's been broken for a long, long time and it's already been replaced?"

"Well, then there's little harm still done, though it would be right to pay for the replacement. I suppose the way to make up for it would be to take more care in the future," he said meaningfully, "so that you don't go breaking anything else."

Dudley bit his lip. _I should pay myself for the new toys? Work for myself? And try not to break anymore? But they're mine! If I want to throw them, I will! No, I'll just say that I've worked them off and since I'd be working for myself I say that my work was playing. So all those broken toys are taken care of now, they don't count._

"And the flowerbeds?"

"Same as breaking things, really. I'd say the best thing is to offer the owner your help in tending the garden until it's as good as it was before." Vernon hoped his son hadn't crushed any of the neighbors' plants, as most of the residents on Privet Drive took their gardens very seriously and it would be a horrible embarrassment for Petunia, who couldn't understand that boys were boys.

_That sounds wretched. But Harry does work in Mummy's garden all the time and she made him help the neighbors whenever I wrecked their flowers to get him in trouble, so then those are all made-up for. I'll let Harry keep the blame for all that._ "Stealing?" he asked hesitantly, not really wanting to wave a flag at his Daddy that said, ''Thief!'

Deciding that all of these questions were hypothetical, Vernon relaxed. "Return of the property, deeply _sincere_ apologies, additional reparations - uh, extra goodies thrown in," he explained at Dudley's blank look, "and never, _ever_ doing it again. It's a _horrible_ thing for a man to steal, son. He loses all respectability," he said with a grave nod.

_Respectility isn't what I'm worried about._ "What about stuff like stolen biscuits?"

Vernon shook his head in exasperation. There was a reason he'd originally told the boy that children had blanket forgiveness. "Stolen food, if it's been eaten or damaged, should be replaced." He gave Dudley a sardonic look. "Do you know of anyone you should be baking biscuits for?"

_Harry's never had biscuits for me to steal. I've taken plenty else off his plate though._ He remembered then that he had often accused Harry of being the thief of his own treats, when really he had either given them to the boy just so he'd be holding the evidence when his parents looked or he had eaten them himself and only pretended they'd been stolen, once Harry had become known for swiping his sweets. It was a funny trick, he knew, but with everything that was going on now he felt that new sense of guilt begin to pull on him again. "Is there any way for someone to make up for..." he trailed off as his brow furrowed. He wasn't sure what to call the little games he played with his cousin.

"For what? The clock's ticking, Dudley, and don't think you're staying up past bedtime."

_Bedtime. What stupid dweeb thought that up?_ "Teasing people. Like to make them mad."

His father snorted. "_That_ really is nothing to worry about." He looked off to the side for a moment and gave a small chuckle.

Dudley tilted his head in complete confusion. "It isn't?"

"No, no, of course not. Everyone knows, we only tease the ones we love."

"Ewww!"

Another snort. "Not just romantically. Brothers and sisters, best friends, and what-have-you. If someone teases you, it's because they care enough to do it."

This made absolutely no sense to Dudley. However it meant that he was off the hook, so he accepted that teasing didn't matter, even if he denied the reason why. _As if I love Harry. I don't even like the dumb baby._

"Anything else?"

"Can people talk to angels?"

His father looked taken aback, but Dudley hardly noticed, as subtlety was a completely alien concept to the child. Vernon, who only believed in angels in a vague way, nodded anyhow. "Yes, if you pray to them they'll hear you, son. Of course, they don't talk back," he said with a wink. He'd been raised to see it as a decent thing for folks to hold faith in and even if he was more familiar with following a pretense of religion than with giving it a license of intimacy in his life, he knew that telling a child angels were myth just wasn't proper. Besides, Petunia had just recently affirmed to Dudley that they existed and disagreeing with his Pet was something Vernon tried to avoid whenever possible.

"Pray?" Dudley asked skeptically.

"Oh, uh," he coughed uncomfortably, "yes, you just, talk to them and they'll hear you." He shifted in his chair. Put like that, it sounded a bit funny and he didn't like to think that he was starting up strange ideas in his son's head; one odd duck in the family was quite enough.

"Oh. Okay." It made sense, that if they were always watching, they'd be able to hear him if he just started talking to them. The only thing was that they clearly didn't watch all of the time, or else the mix up between him and Harry would have never happened. _I'll just have to be clear that I'm talking to them._ He slowly went over a plan of action for the night. "'Night, Daddy," he suddenly chirped.

Vernon reached out and ruffled his son's hair. "Goodnight, Dudley." As he walked away, Vernon shook his head in bemusement.

Dudley's one track mind was focused on an unusually complicated thing for him to pursue, so he wouldn't have noticed the confusion he'd left in his wake even if he were the sort of boy who paid attention to the feelings of others.

* * *

Petunia set her nephew down upon the bed in the guestroom, frowning tightly. As she pulled the blankets up to cover him, she felt the awful _twisting_ worsen. It had started the night of the accident but had gradually grown into something crippling, a foreign wrenching of her emotions which was entirely unwelcome. For four years, she had allowed herself to lash out at Lily's spawn freely. Caring for the miserable creature's needs was revolting and she felt no guilt in ignoring them in favor of Dudley's; her baby would go wanting on Harry's behalf only over her dead body. Touching the freakishly diseased boy repulsed her but now that she owed her baby's life to him, she could not shirk the duty to tend to her nephew any longer; it was a matter of personal honor to her and like any respectable woman, she took such a thing very seriously.

She owed the boy a debt and it would be paid. Somehow. But oh, how she loathed _touching_ the thing! For nearly four days, he had been in some sort of..._magical_ coma. Induced by near or complete depletion of his power core, her remembered knowledge told her, and how she hated him all the more for not letting her _forget _such things. Just _looking_ at him brought back her fights with Lily over that deluded freak world, her hatred of that _thing_ she'd married - every bad memory Petunia had, from the neglect in her childhood to the coldness between her sister and herself in those last few years after their parents' deaths, could be brought to the front of her mind with just a glance at the monstrous terror that had been left at the door with a note explaining Lily's murder. She _hated_ him but now that he was completely helpless, at her mercy and appearing so much like any sick child, a fight had been started within her, her natural revulsion warring with her motherly instincts to be _careful_ with the boy, offer him _comfort_. It was making her sick.

Even as she scowled, she unthinkingly tucked the covers in around the little monster to be sure he'd stay warm. Straightening up, she resisted the urge to shout and wake him back up, ask him if he'd wanted the soup or not. After all, it was rather inconsiderate of him to just fall asleep on her, when she'd been waiting so long for him to wake up. She pursed her lips instead, resenting this new business of controlling her impulses. She could swear half the horrible ache in her was from the frustration she was holding in. It would be a lie to swear so, but lying for a good cause didn't bother that honor of hers in the least; some things were just necessary, nasty as they might be.

She shook out the skirt of her dress, distracting herself with the smaller annoyance of having got some water on herself while giving her nephew a bath, and then she swept from the room into the hall, intending to fetch her son from in front of the television and begin the fight to get him to sleep. A few steps from the guestroom, she paused as she heard her child's voice coming from his bedroom across the hall. Hearing her nephew's name, she crept up to the door to listen.

"You've made a big mistake about him," Dudley was saying in a small voice, "he's not really that bad, just ugly and stupid. Er, um, I mean - well, he's just a dumb baby, anyway. And he's already made up for all the things he's done wrong. Everything's been made up for, the toys and the wrecked gardens and candy and just all of it. It's all been settled by me and him. So there's no reason for him to be punished anymore."

_Punished? I could think of a thousand ways and reasons for Harry to be punished. Worrying my precious Diddydums is unforgivable, for instance. My sweet-hearted baby, thinking of his wretched sick cousin..._

"I don't even care about the toys, really. And you know, Harry's...he's kind of a good kid, anyway. He says sorry all the time, even for things he hasn't done, so you've gotta know he means well."

_Indeed, the little monster can be quite sorry once he sees he's in trouble. Manipulative little devil..._

"So you have to forgive him and forget about all this, Angels. Please? I don't want him to - to...he's my favorite thing to play with," Dudley said as he began to sound choked up, "_please_ don't kill him."

Petunia suddenly felt a bit dizzy.

"I don't want to lose my cousin. You've got no right to take him away anyhow!"

This was a bit much for Petunia. She loved her Duddy-dumdums, of course, and always tried to give her baby whatever would make him happy. She and Vernon had tried for so long to have a child and he was the greatest joy in her life. But even as she went through the door to give her startled boy a hug, she felt that twisting in her get a bit more forceful.

"Mummy?"

Her baby _wanted_ the thing she most hated. _His favorite thing to play with. Good lord, he needs better toys!_

"I was just, I, um..."

"Shh. It's fine love." She brushed a thumb over one chubby cheek, frowning in worry at the tear's track. "Everything's going to be alright, Duddy."

He screwed up his face in anger, the familiar beginnings of a fit of temper. "No, it isn't! You keep acting like it is but-"

"Harry's going to be _fine_, Duddy," she spoke over him, raising her voice to a shriller tone to be heard over his growing tantrum. "He isn't going to die. I don't know where you got such an idea. Daddy and I have told you he just needs rest, love."

Dudley blinked up at her owlishly, as though she'd just spoken another language to him. "But - but didn't the angels make him sick?"

"Of course not!" She frowned down at him, almost disapproving. "Harry's simply a very - fragile, boy. Weak. The shock of what happened that night has worn his body down. He'll be alright in a little while. Would you like Mummy to find you a new playmate until he's better?"

He was giving her a funny look again. "How long until he's better?"

"Oh, well, I suppose he'll be back to rights in a week or two. I could call Mrs. Polkiss. You remember her boy Piers, don't you Diddydums? You've played together at the park."

He scrunched up his face and slowly shook his head 'no.' "I can just watch telly, Mummy. He's really going to get better?"

"Yes," she stated firmly, feeling a new resolve to make sure the little monster really did.

Dudley was frowning at her as though he didn't believe her in the least but he was cooperative enough about being made to go through his pre-bed routine. Quiet. Distracted.

Petunia offered him a story after he was tucked in and he shook his head, saying 'no' and 'goodnight Mummy' in a more distant tone than he'd used to speak to the angels earlier.

She left his room with the twisting building, her mind fogged with confusion. The world was changing without her permission or blessing. As she descended the stairs, she half-expected to find herself in someone else's home. Coming to the doorway to the living room, she gave a quiet sigh of exhaustion at seeing her husband sitting in his favorite chair, staring off at the wall beside her in deep concentration. Her Vernon, her home, and this continued infection pervading both as she knew that he wasn't looking towards some innocuous picture of their Duddy but was rather looking towards the door to Harry's cupboard, as though he could see it through the living room wall. An uncomfortable behavior of his which was nevertheless becoming familiar; the last few nights she could swear she'd even caught him staring at it through the bedroom floor.

"Hello, Pet," he said as he finally noticed her. "Dudley off to bed alright?"

"Yes," she said, nearly adding more, about how their baby had been praying for Harry, before biting her tongue at the thought that it would only encourage this strangeness in her home.

"Love," he said thoughtfully, staring at the wall once more, "do you suppose..."

_Supposition is a dangerous animal, Vernon._ "What, dear?"

He gave a puff of exasperation, whether at his own mind or her icy tone was a mystery. "The boy."

_Well, that explains it all, doesn't it? So articulate, love. The boy - oh, the boy!_ "He woke this evening."

Vernon's eyes swiveled to her sharply. "He did? Is he - is he damaged?"

She thought of the brief moment of consciousness earlier. "He seemed no less intelligent than usual," she offered, less scathingly then she normally would.

He breathed out a sigh of relief. "I was wondering if he'd wake up at all," he admitted.

Petunia crossed her arms, tugging at her sleeves in a nervous habit. She'd wondered the same thing, worried that the strain would be too much for someone as young as Harry. _Would it be better? I could repay him by playing nursemaid, which I'd hate, but it would at least be a clear path to fixing this debt. What do I do with him now he's awake?_

"Pet, dear, do you suppose we've been too harsh with him?"

She barked a bitter laugh. "Harsh? We feed and clothe that ungrateful little monster, the filthy burden which we never asked for, which we've never been repaid for taking on, for handling all the trouble he's caused us - hah! We've done our best, Vernon, and from the way he acts, it's still not enough. It won't ever be enough for such a vile freak as him!" Her nostrils flared as she tried to calm herself, minding the hour and her child sleeping upstairs. Even as she believed what she'd said, another part of her reminded that it _had_ been enough for Harry, or else she wouldn't still be living.

Vernon was giving the wall a sad look. "He's only a child, Pet. Dudley, when he came down earlier..."

Petunia waited, ears perked at the mention of her son in connection with the brat once more.

"...he said we've never forgiven Harry for being bad. As though we never will."

She huffed, feeling ready to cry as the world continued to try to tilt around her. "_Dudley_ is only a child. He doesn't understand, Vernon."

"Neither does the boy."

Bringing a hand up to try to rub the headache from her temples, Petunia stayed silent.

* * *

AN: **sanyal,** thank you, I appreciate the feedback. I suppose the snake went back to whence it came. ;) **desartratt,** thank you, I'm glad you're enjoying it. I do hope you won't mind that Dudley's still a brat though. **kada7,** thank you for reviewing. I've had to take a good look at the Dursleys and come to somewhat rational conclusions or else I'd never want for them to become Harry's family - which would pretty much nix this story. I still want to smack them with a dictionary but at least with this base, I can see people worth the time for them to grow. I'm glad you like Harry's point of view, the next chapter goes back to him. **Caldonya,** thank you, continued nods of approval are certainly welcome. I'm pleased to know that I'm not the only one entertained by the Tuna/Tunia bit. I've got you scared he's lost his magic? Really? Cool.

Thank you all for reading.


	7. Spinning

Chapter 7: Spinning

Harry couldn't remember ever feeling so comfortable before. He was wrapped snugly in something soft and warm and he was quite tempted to simply lay still and wallow in his strange new nest. _Better than a bird's. Is this how cats sleep at home?_ His thoughts slowly woke him and he became aware of the things beyond his state of peace. His limbs shook as he moved them and his back ached as he tried to sit up. He was still a bit tired but greater than that, he was _yearning_. There was something better than this new nest which was calling his name, asking to be nourished. Yes, he could feel it, sleeping inside his skin, like a cat who wouldn't purr until it was petted.

Blinking into the dark, which was at last something familiar, he felt at his sides for his glasses, hitting his palms only against more and more of the nest. Crawling to the closest edge, he reached out and touched the corner of a table and then felt to its center and up a cool curved surface. Brushing his thumb over a chain, he cautiously pulled down, remembering once bringing a lamp crashing to the floor the same way. Luckily, he got the light on without tipping the thing over and he then reeled back away from the sudden glare of the light bulb.

As his eyes adjusted, he looked around himself in bemusement and slight disappointment, for it was no nest but only an ordinary bed, like what the rest of his family slept in, and as he inspected the room more closely he found it to be very familiar. _It looks just like Aunt Marge's room. Why would I be there though? I'm not even allowed in there anymore... _A wash of cold came over him as he realized that if he were in his aunt's bedroom, he was in trouble. Tired as he was, thirsty and eager and hungry as the thing calling to him from inside his bones claimed he was, trouble was the last thing he wanted to deal with. He practically fell out of the bed in his haste to get away from it, and then almost toppled over once more as he had to grasp the side of the mattress to keep his legs steady.

Confusion and fear were quickly drowning out all else. The bed looked rumpled, showing someone had slept there, and even as he worried about being given away through evidence left behind he felt too weary and out of sorts to do anything about it. The light on behind him could alert the Dursleys too, of course, but should he risk walking in the dark and bumping into something? _I'm frightened of a lamp and blankets,_ he thought suddenly. He still didn't even know how he'd gotten where he was, as the last thing he remembered was riding in the car on the way home. Frowning down at the cotton t-shirt hanging to his knees as a nightshirt, he felt utterly pathetic.

Harry ran a hand over his hair and looked back up to the door, nearly a straight line away from him. He huffed and then took a step back, carefully pulling the lamp's chain once more and then easing his arm back to his side slowly. Holding a hand against the side of the bed, he crept forward, regaining a steadiness to his gait. As his hand ran into the footboard, he stared into the dark and tried to see the door, before giving up and simply walking towards where he remembered it to be. It was slow progress, with his hands stretched out in front of him and his legs feeling ready to turn to jelly. Connecting with the wall, he felt along it until finding the cold metal of the doorknob.

He eased the door open slowly and peaked into the hall. There was a nightlight plugged into the wall and he gave a sigh of relief as he realized how much easier that made things for him. _Nearly clear. I'll just say I came upstairs for the bathroom if I get caught on the stairs._ Opening the door entirely, he looked back at the now partly illuminated bedroom and made his way to the bed again, tugging the covers straight as best he could. Nodding in satisfaction, he slunk back out into the hall, closing the door behind him. _Cupboard? Kitchen? I could get in big trouble if I root around in the fridge in the middle of the night. Then again, I might already be in trouble so I might find out tomorrow that I'm not getting any breakfast anyway._ He shifted his weight from foot to foot, chewing at his fingers as he weighed his options. He felt a bit light-headed, as though there could be nothing better than falling onto the cot in his cupboard - except perhaps going back to the bed in the next room, but that wasn't an option. Walking towards the stairs with one arm outstretched for balance and the other still raised in front of him as he nibbled his digits, Harry thought that his hunger would probably keep him from resting anyway, as it had been what woke him up in the first place.

Grasping the railing tightly, he started down, feeling the shakiness from earlier returning. After several steps, he stopped and sat back on a stair, breathing harshly. _What's wrong with me?_ He felt tempted to lean back but falling asleep in the middle of the stairs, with the way Dudley liked to crash down them in the mornings, was definitely not a good idea. He closed his eyes, trying to find his strength again. The cupboard was so close, actually right underneath him, but he still felt dwarfed by the distance as so much more of him simply wanted to focus on what he needed and not how to get it.

"What on _earth_ are you up to?"

Harry flinched at the unexpected noise, twisting around as much as his energy allowed and frowning up at his aunt with wide eyes. _I'm not in trouble. I'm not. She always gets me in trouble, she's such a - why's she look worried for? Is Dudley sitting behind me?_

"Harry? Are you alright?" she asked as she came down the stairs cautiously. Once even with him, she brought a hand to his forehead, ignoring it as he drew back from her touch. "No fever," she muttered, then gave him a slight grimace, as though she'd only just realized that she'd made contact with his skin. "What's wrong with you then?"

He gave her an absolutely miserable look. "Don' feel good."

She sighed in exasperation and then stood up beside him, then actually reached out and pulled him up off the stair he'd been sitting on, setting him back down on his feet and taking hold of one of his hands. "Let's get you back to bed then," she said tiredly.

"Bed?"

"Yes, you idiot, _bed!_ It's two in the morning!"

"But - I -" he shook his head in confusion. _Is she trying to get me in trouble? Does she want me there so Uncle Vernon will yell at me?_ "My _cupboard!_" he squawked as he tugged weakly at his aunt's hand.

She stopped walking and looked down at him, nostrils flaring in irritation. "It's too much of a bother to tend to you in there. I'm not going to be crawling through a mess of dust and rags every time you need something. You'll be staying in the spare room until you're better." The question of where he would stay afterward, the tension that rose whenever Vernon would look ready to broach that subject with more than a 'we'll see' was a swelling point of distress which she was hardly willing to think of.

"Better?" _I'm sick? Or I'm bad? Probably both..._

"Yes," she said without venom as her expression softened slightly, "you're unwell, Harry. You'll need a good deal of rest to get better. So you mustn't go wandering around the house or even leave bed more than you have to. Understood?"

_No._ "'Kay."

She guided him back into the guestroom and turned the bedside lamp on. Frowning again, she pulled the bed covers down and looked at him. She was nearly grateful when he climbed onto the mattress without prompting or the need of help. Drawing the blankets up over him, she met his curious green eyes and blinked twice as she felt a bit stuck in his gaze. He looked the part of innocent babe quite well and Lily's eyes brought whispers to her mind of her life before the taint of magic appeared. She drew back from him, shaking her head as though to clear it from a trance. Harry seemed suddenly frightened when she glanced back at him and she realized she was scowling at him.

"Did you need anything, boy?"

_Was it a dream that I nearly got soup earlier? Or did it really happen but she was playing a joke?_

"Well?" she asked less patiently.

"Um, no. I can stay here?" _That really doesn't sound right..._

"_Yes._ I've already told you that." She glared at him unrepentantly now, trying to remember that part of his thick-headedness was probably due to fatigue. "Would you like a cup of soup before you go to sleep?"

_Oh sweet monsters, I've gone mad. Or she has._ "Aunt Tuna?"

She smiled tightly, looking a tad ferocious. "_Yes,_ Harry?"

"Are you okay?"

She flinched back as though struck and then studied him in silence as if he were some foreign species.

"Aunt Tuna?"

The glare returned to her face and she stood swiftly. "I'll just get you a light snack then. It won't take long."

Before Harry could even open his mouth to say a stunned 'thank you' she was out of the room with the door closed behind her. He blinked owlishly, wondering if he really was dreaming. _Can you be tired in a dream? Shouldn't be, if you're already sleeping..._ Leaning back against the pillows of what was apparently going to be his bed for a little while, he wavered between gratitude for the moment and worry for the next. _This has to be a trick. I'm not gonna fall for it...they can't fool me, not if a bird can fool them..._

The door clacking open startled him from a doze and he looked up, bewildered at the sight of his aunt coming towards him with a full tray of food. He wasn't sure whether he was more surprised that she was actually feeding him in the middle of the night or that it had seemed to take only a minute for her to put it together, as he had apparently fallen asleep for some time.

"Sit up," she said briskly as she stopped beside the bed.

He did and felt some of his weariness slip away just looking at the spread on the tray she set across his lap. _A bit more than a cup of soup..._ There was a cup of tea that smelt of honey, a small dish of fruit, another with two slices of buttered bread and cheese and a bowl half-full of tomato soup. _More than I usually get at meals, even._ He glanced up at his aunt warily, waiting for her to provide the punch line.

"Don't spill anything," she snipped awkwardly, then went and sat in a plush chair against the wall.

Deciding that the food was worth playing whatever game she was at, Harry dug in with relish, fingers brushing over the slick sides of a pear slice, his eyes feasting on the color of an apple skin. Yes, he was hungry, in a most unusual way and as he ate, sensing out each item individually, it was like getting fresh air after days spent in his cupboard. Everything was sharp and new, complicated as a bird's riddle and soothing as a flower's bloom. He closed his eyes in pleasure as he savored the taste of cheddar he'd just nibbled off the small smooth block of cheese in his palm. Somehow it felt that he was appeasing a deeper need than what his body could understand.

Once he was finished, with nary a crumb left, he found his eyes to be weary as the desire for further rest at last outstripped his interest in food. There was a shifting sound over by the wall and he looked over to see his aunt watching him thoughtfully. His face lit up with a smile and he said, perhaps more sincerely than he ever had before, "Thank you!" She looked a bit unhappy to hear it but for once Harry had decided not to worry about getting into trouble over the things he couldn't understand. He sighed tiredly, barely noticing when his aunt came over to the bed and removed the tray from his lap.

She plucked the glasses off from his nose and he looked up at her bleary form curiously. "Goodnight, Harry," she said in a tone he couldn't understand.

_A new bird's song to solve._ "Goodnight, Aunt Tuna," he said as he laid back down and got comfortable once more. He couldn't help twitching when she drew the covers up over his shoulders and then fussed about them for a moment. There wasn't anything he could liken this change in her to, except a trick. One of her hands came up to his brow and smoothed his hair back and for just a moment, Harry felt completely fooled.

* * *

Sleep had always been a thing to treasure for Harry, as he was constantly robbed of it. Being able to rest not only in a comfy bed but for as long as he wanted to was a luxury he wished he could get used to. With the light of the morning warming him and a dozen birds' riddles calling him, he stretched his limbs out as he had seen cats do after naps - and then he bolted awake as someone screamed, giving a shout of alarm himself.

"Agh!" Wide blue eyes and a chubby face greeted him with a shriek.

"Aah!" He jumped back against the headboard as his heart pounded in his chest. _Dudley!_

Giving the fifth scream in their exchange, his cousin jumped back from him, too. Unfortunately, Dudley had already been sitting on the edge of the bed and had nothing left to jump back onto. He fell over backwards and landed with a loud thump and a small squeak.

Harry wasn't feeling very sympathetic but he did lean forward slightly, concerned that the larger boy may have landed on his head. "Dudley?"

A groan sounded from the floor.

About to ask if his cousin was alright, he was startled into jumping against the headboard once more as the door to the room flew open and slammed against the wall with a loud bang. "What in the world - _Dudley!_" Aunt Tuna abandoned her stern tension and raced to her son in a panic. Helping him sit up, she cooed, "Are you alright, Duddydums?" Dudley nodded, waving her off and scooting back far enough so that he could stare up over the edge of the bed to where Harry sat. _"You!" _she hissed with a murderous expression. "_What_ did you do? How _dare_ you hurt my Dudley?"

Harry's eyes widened and he went stiff with shock and fear. He'd never seen his aunt look so mad before and he really didn't want to know what it meant for him. Distantly, he was aware of a crushing disappointment at having his nice dream end so soon.

"He didn't!"

Both Harry and Petunia looked towards Dudley in surprise, though for very different reasons.

"I just fell off, Mummy, really! There was - there was a spider on the bed! And when I saw it I jumped back and fell! Harry saw it too, didn't you Harry?" Dudley gave his cousin an encouraging look.

"Yes!" he agreed automatically. He would have sworn to seeing anything to get that death glare off from him. "Yeah," he said as he glanced cautiously at his Aunt Tuna, "it was really big."

Dudley nodded in support. "That's why we were screaming," he said as though it was the last bit of proof he needed for settling the matter.

Looking between her son and nephew, Petunia was convinced. After all, Harry might lie but never her precious Duddy. "Oh," she breathed, then "oh," again, with greater relief as the implications unraveled. "Alright then. I don't see it here now," she said as she ran her eyes over the bed nervously. "Do you know where it went?"

"It fell off the edge when Dudley did," Harry offered.

"Oh! Then Duddy dear, get up off the floor, love. You don't want to get bitten, do you?"

Dudley scrambled up with a squeak, as though afraid of the spider they'd just made up. He sat back on the bed again, getting a pat on the head from his mother and a curious look from Harry.

Petunia glanced over her nephew then, wearing a curiously blank expression.

_The thinking face. Back to the cupboard with me?_ He tried to give her a smile but the corners of his lips would barely twitch.

"Are you any better this morning?" she asked in a neutral tone.

"I - yes. I mean...I'm not woozy?" _What else am I supposed to say? What's she even care for?_

"Good," she said and it almost sounded as though she meant it. "Now," she began in a brighter tone, "why don't I bring you boys a snack?" She sent a look exclusively towards Dudley then switched to Harry with her eyebrows raised slightly in question. "If you're going to be up for awhile?"

"I think so," Harry answered quietly, "that would be really nice."

"Yes, Mummy, and make sure whatever it is has lots of chocolate!" Dudley unashamedly demanded.

She closed her eyes in exasperation. "Duddy, darling, Mummy's told you, no more chocolate on things that aren't dessert. It only makes you sick." At her son's pout she added, "I'll bring you some biscuits, love. But Harry needs more than sweets to get better."

"Oh. Okay," Dudley subsided. "But still bring lots of biscuits though," he added just to make sure.

"Of course dear," she said and bent to kiss his cheek before leaving.

Harry stared at his cousin in disbelief, once more waiting for the joke at the end of the trick. _Why would he mind if I'm sick or not? He'd probably love it if I never got better at all!_ "Dudley," he said carefully, "what game are you at?"

Dudley turned to him and frowned and for a moment Harry thought he was about to get punched. Then the act resumed as his face softened. "Are you really feeling better?"

Harry's jaw went slack and he simply gaped at his cousin.

"Well?" Dudley asked impatiently, never one to accept waiting.

He was trying to form words, honestly, but the best he got out was "Huwhaz?" Harry shook his head as though to reorder the thoughts inside and then gave Dudley what he hoped was a no-nonsense look, like what his Aunt Tuna was always sending him. _This new Dursley game has gone on long enough. I don't care about their mysteries anyway. There isn't anything about them that I'd want to learn._ "Dudley. What is _wrong_ with you?" He lowered his voice to a hiss, conscious of the fact that his aunt would be coming back up in a few minutes. "_What_ do you think you'll get out of pretending to be nice to me? Why didn't you tell Aunt Tuna I shoved you off the bed or something? Why on earth would you _help_ me?" There were a dozen similar questions he could have spouted off but since he actually wanted answers to the ones he'd just asked and he knew that Dudley was hardly one for complicated thoughts, he clicked his mouth closed and settled for waiting steamily for him to answer _something_.

"I'm not pretending!" Dudley snapped. "I just didn't want you to get in trouble. I -" he stopped and after a moment gave a slightly guilty look. "I get you in enough trouble," he muttered, "I don't want to add to it."

_Dudley guilty? Is this a joke, too? Should I laugh?_ "You _like_ getting me in trouble," Harry explained slowly. He felt a need to remind his cousin of just how the world worked, if only so that something could be normal again. "It's funny to you," he added instructionally.

"Yeah, but not - not a lot. Not like this," he said as he waved a hand between them and around the room.

Harry looked around the guestroom. It was done in bright yellows and creamy whites, the furniture was so hardly used that it looked new and there was a portrait against the left wall of a lushly green landscape with a waterfall. The room as a whole was comfortable and inviting. Harry himself had never felt more welcome in his own home before. He tilted his head at Dudley in confusion, and then narrowed his eyes. "It's a really nice room, Dudley," he said in a chilled tone, "and you never let me keep anything nice. You _hate_ it when I'm happy."

Dudley looked flustered. "Look, I just - you're sick! I - I don't want you to die!"

Harry reeled back. "What?" _Die? Joke, it's just a - isn't it? Would Dudley be that bad, to play a trick like this? Or that smart?_

"Um. Nothing. Because you're getting better," he said with several firm nods tagged onto the end. He looked like he was trying to convince himself.

Staring helplessly seemed the thing to do then.

"Really," Dudley added, as though the reassurance would help.

Harry sat back against the headboard heavily. _Where to start? At least after years of questioning plants and animals, Dudley should be fairly easy. He isn't clever enough to be mysterious and we do speak the same language._ "Dudley," he said dully.

"Yeah?"

_Sounds nervous. Good - but why?_ "How long was I sleeping?"

There was a long pause between them but Harry wasn't worried, as he knew how long it took for Dudley to count things.

"Four days," he said at last, though he didn't sound very sure.

_Then again, he's hardly sure about counting to one._ "Alright," Harry said with a nod as he felt himself beginning to panic, "okay." _Okay? Four days? Four?_ This didn't sound at all normal to him and he swallowed back a wave of fear, trying to keep breathing. _Is that why everything's so strange?_ He looked back to Dudley determinedly. "Tell me about what's happened while I was sleeping."

"What?" He looked annoyed at being bothered now. "Why? Everything was about you, anyway."

Harry gave him an incredulous look. "Dudley. I was _sleeping._ I _missed_ it," he said in a voice that asked, 'how thick _are_ you?'

Dudley scowled in thought. "Oh," he said in a low mumble. "Oh," he repeated louder in realization. Then, _"Oh!" _as yes, he _finally_ got it. "So then, you don't know what everything's about. Right?"

He gave a tired nod, silently begging the world for any spare patience it might have.

"You were sick," Dudley said in explanation. "Well," he said with a frown, "you still _are,_ aren't you? So you should already know that." He was giving Harry a look like he thought _he_ was the one being stupid.

Thoughts of the bed beneath him and the snack on the way up the stairs were all that kept Harry from actually shoving his cousin back onto the floor. He closed his eyes and covered them with his hands. "Alright," he said in a pleasant voice, "how about you tell me what _you've_ done the last four days?"

Though Harry couldn't see it from behind his hands, Dudley shot the door a nervous look before he answered. "Spied on Mummy and Daddy. They've been arguing about you," he hissed.

Harry uncovered his eyes at that and looked around cautiously before leaning forward in interest and whispering back, "What about me?"

Dudley rolled his eyes. "_All_ about you. They've been going on about the way you act and the things you have and where your room is and _everything_." He leaned in further. "Every time I listen in on them, it's _you_ they're talking about."

"That doesn't make any sense," Harry said in plain confusion, "why would they be complaining about me while I was sleeping? I couldn't have been causing trouble. And why take me up here?" He looked to Dudley as though the other boy could answer him. "Why not leave me in my cupboard?"

Dudley bit his lip, getting that guilty look again. "They were trying to be nice to you, I think. I think they were arguing about how nice they should be, since you're always in trouble with them."

"But why would they be nice? Just because I'm sick?"

"Harry...I heard them talking last night. They didn't think you were going to wake up."

"What?"

"They thought you'd just keep sleeping. Until you, you know..." he trailed off with a shrug.

"Until I what?" Harry squeaked.

"Died," he said in an apologetic tone.

Harry fisted the blankets then, his breathing picking up and eyes watering at the thought. _Died. They're being nice to me because I'm dying. Or I was. Or am I?_

"Harry? Don't cry. I'm sorry. You're better now though, aren't you? And I talked to the angels and made things up for you, it's all even now, that's why you woke up. Please, I - I'm _really_ sorry."

If Harry hadn't been choked up and struggling to keep his tears from falling, he would have seen his cousin looking miserably contrite. _There are so many birds and flowers and colors and tastes and sounds and -_ "I don't want to die," he managed in a breathy whisper. _I've never seen a zebra, just on the telly. I haven't ever gotten to talk to one. Or a lion. Or an alligator. I've only met one newt. Haven't seen a toad in years. I need to find the monsters, still. Maybe they'll find me? Maybe they'll help me. But they never have before._ A sob broke his train of thought and he shook his head, denying everything.

"Oh - oh don't do that. Harry, really, I said I was sorry! I didn't mean to get you in trouble! And you aren't, anymore. Honest, I handled it and you're going to be fine, Mummy's said so."

"I _don't want_ to die," Harry repeated pathetically.

"I already told you - _Harry,"_ Dudley said as he reached out and grabbed one of his cousin's arms and tugged and shook it so that Harry looked up at him and paid attention, "I said you _were_ dying. You aren't anymore. You're getting better, _really._ Aren't you?" he asked unsurely.

_That's why Aunt Tuna keeps asking how I am; she wants to hear that I'm just awful and about to get out of her hair for good._ "Then why are they still being nice to me, Dudley? Didn't you think of _that?"_

Dudley looked stumped. "I dunno. To make sure you get better?"

_"Why?"_ he asked viciously. "They don't like me anymore than you do."

His cousin gave him a look as though he were completely crazy. "Because you're _family!"_

Harry pouted at him sulkily. "I'm the _family_ that sleeps in a cupboard."

Dudley wilted at that for a moment, before giving an angry look. "You're _my_ cousin and I _want_ you here so you're going to _stay_ here, and that's that! I've already told Mummy so, and you know I always get what I want!"

_That's true, actually._ _"Why _would you want me here?" he asked in a quiet, confused voice. It was something he felt he'd asked a dozen times without answer but luckily he had a great deal of practice at dealing with stubborn mysteries.

"I - I don't know. I don't_ like _you or anything."

Harry snorted.

"I guess you're just fun to pick on," Dudley said with a nod, then reached out and poked Harry in the ribs to emphasize his point.

"Ow!"

"Baby."

* * *

AN: **DSK,** thank you, I'm glad you like my portrayal of Harry. I'm trying to keep his intellect and dialogue age-appropriate, but if I slip, it won't be to have him start speaking six languages at seven or something of the like. ;) **Canadian Harry Potter Fan,** thank you, 'realistic' is certainly what I'm aiming for when I switch characters and I do like to hear that I've hit my mark. I hope this is soon enough for you. **munchzoey,** thank you! **desartratt,** thank you, I was hoping Dudley's logic came out well. Confusion in general can be quite fun. ;) **lex,** thank you for the encouragement. Petunia will certainly get something, though perhaps not what she deserves. **sanyal,** thank you, your review made me chuckle madly. Indeed, I believe open communication is a life skill which too few endeavor to master. **Caldonya,** yes, Petunia really can be confoundingly malicious. I too find Dudley to be strangely endearing, when he isn't torturing Harry. To my **Anonymous** reviewer, thank you for your review and I of course appreciate whatever time is spent on this story. Vernon has become oddly important to me so I'm quite glad that his portrayal continues to ring true for you. I didn't feel it would be in character for Dudley to confess, especially not in the face of such dire consequences. Your description of Petunia is quite in line with my own way of viewing her. There is a heart, somewhere beneath the stone, but a good measure of chiseling is required to reach it.

Thank you all for reading.


	8. Sir Dudley

My review replies are getting a bit (extremely) long, so I'm going to start sticking them up here from now on.

**Caldonya,** thank you. Harry was actually _focused_ in the last chapter, on things existent in the real world, versus the previous dream-haze and fantastic babble he'd been indulging in. **Otaku freak,** thank you, I'm glad you like it. 'Unique' is certainly high praise in this fandom. It seems like everything's been done at least twice - and then twelve times. I attribute it to a massive Harry Potter hive mind. Really, the repetition is just a sign of community. 'Resistance is futile' and all that jazz. **Canadian Harry Potter Fan,** Wow, thank you, thank you and more of the like. Harry is going to be integrated into the family fully; I wouldn't just dangle the carrot of happiness in front of him. However, it will be a slow process; I can't picture Petunia calling him 'Harrikins' anytime soon, can you? ;) Vernon needs to lead the effort, not only because he is least selfishly motivated but also because Dudley _can't_, as he's too immature to even admit to _liking_ his cousin right now and Petunia is utterly unwilling. I do think that he probably wanted a troupe of little men in canon even; he was always jubilant at his son's more forceful behaviors and he did settle down in a four bedroom home at a time when he had at most just one baby. I really can't see canon Vernon as malevolent - I just think he's very tired and has had one too many run-ins with Weasleys. He is human, and I think that something like the cupboard issue would weigh on any decent man's conscience. Keeping Harry's magic plausible is important to me. Right now, what he really has is just a deep awareness of magic in the world around him, something which I think even muggle children possess. ;) That and calling his magic forth to the surface, even if he doesn't know that's what he's doing. He's spent a lot of time searching, devoted to understanding, so this is naturally the easiest task for his excess energy to perform by his will. I definitely couldn't picture Harry, in anything like his right mind, thinking that he was supposed to be in the guest room. **HappeeGoLuckee,** thank you. I do hope my Dursleys can stand out in the crowd of their alternate selves. Petunia has approved of her son's ribbing of his cousin, so I imagine she'd be relieved by that part, as she'd rather he weren't fond of Harry. She has also caught him eavesdropping before, so his spying would likely be met with nothing more than exasperation and a determination to hide from or distract him better in the future. She's already been through this 'dying' bit, so again, exasperation towards her son. However, when it comes to Harry's side, I don't doubt that her heart's twisting would have worsened. Whether she accepts it or not, she does care for Harry and it is only going to get worse. Or better, depending upon who is asked. ;) **Blizzard Phoenix,** thank you, I do hope I'm up to the task. I certainly feel like I am. I'm glad you like what's here so far, I do aim to please. Coherency in my writing is also a high goal of mine, though I'm not sure that I always make it. About the update dates...ix-nay on inx-jaying my ory-stay. If I say, 'Oh yes, I'm going to be updating about once every week and a half and plan to be close to finishing by next winter,' then I will have cursed the story and it might not get updated for...I don't even want to think about it. So I will never say that. _Ever._ However, I will say that although my stopping point for this story is unsure (somewhere between first and third year for Harry) I've already named the sequel. Infer what you will, and thank you for the good luck. ;) **PenguinBoy,** thank you, I'm glad you're having fun reading this story. Harry's head is a fun place to be. It will certainly be most interesting when Harry finds a live snake to interview and it actually talks back. **The-Resident,** thank you. While I will eventually skip some time, simply because I really don't want to write out all his kindergarten days, it will be more in the range of weeks and months. I actually feel a pull _away_ from him turning eleven - the bulk of this story will take place long before that happens and I want to make the most of it. Harry doesn't need Hogwarts to see magic and he doesn't need to grow up to find freedom. At least not in this story. ;) **KitsuneyJenfer,** thanks, I'm happy you think it's awesome. **desartratt,** I particularly enjoyed the ending too. Harry and Dudley certainly have an entertaining dynamic. **fraewyn,** here it is, then. ;)

* * *

Chapter 8: Sir Dudley

Vernon sat at his desk at work, skimming over newspaper ads during his first coffee break of the day. He was scanning for a deal on his next vehicle, as he was currently stuck carpooling and grumbling about 'wild hit and run hooligans' to his subordinate, Paul Newcomb. He wasn't much surprised when he caught himself looking instead for second hand children's furniture. Something compact, sturdy, in good condition and most importantly, without sharp edges. He'd been going over the idea of fixing up the spare bedroom for his nephew for the past two days and he now felt fairly committed to following through.

The first night that Harry had slept in the guestroom, Vernon had looked in the cupboard. He hadn't wanted to but it would have been almost superstitious not to, and certainly it would have been impractical. If wishing weren't both those things too, he'd wish to have not looked. He didn't want to know that what had seemed serviceable for a small child, what had been a space as clean as any other in his house, was somehow changed to a filthy nest of rags and spiders. The crib mattress set upon an army cot had looked comfortable enough two years before. He supposed it still did, for a boy Harry's size. He _could_ simply clean it out, if Petunia wouldn't, and perhaps add an extra blanket and call the job done. Harry was still the same little menace, after all.

Instead, he'd looked up having safety bars put on the window of the spare upstairs bedroom. The boy wouldn't be crawling out of it again if he had any say in it. He was considering getting them for all of the upstairs windows, just in case Harry got determined to break his own neck. Considering cost, he was leaving it as an option dependent upon the boy's future tenacity in the pursuit of trouble. He supposed it was possible that he'd learned not to jump out of windows the first time around but that wasn't something he'd bet on.

He wanted to bide his time in getting any furniture. It would work best if he could convince his Pet that it was her idea. He was still working on her taking the boy clothes shopping, so the chances there were slim. If it came to it, he'd do the same thing he had when Harry first came into his house and Petunia had wanted to keep him on a pillow in a laundry basket; he'd lay down the law about what was _normal_ and do just as he wanted whether she squawked or not. He could do it now, but she was _horrible_ when her dander was up, a right terror to rival Vernon's own mother. The last thing he wanted was to walk into weeks of fighting with his wife when it wasn't necessary.

The easier matter was convincing her of the importance in short-term consideration of the boy. She herself said that they needed to feed him up and do it well. Paying him some niceties to keep his spirits up while he was ill was a matter of course as well. Continuing to treat the boy well was something which he thought required a significant precedent, a new rule of conduct which Petunia would be hard-pressed to go against once Harry was well again.

The date was July twenty-third, and Vernon had his arguments ready.

* * *

Harry looked up as his Aunt Tuna nudged the door to the guestroom open with the toe of her shoe and came in carrying two stacked trays. She stopped as she saw him and frowned for a moment before stepping up to the side of the bed and handing both trays to Dudley. "Careful," she said warningly, and as Harry eyed the four full glasses on the top tray he felt like echoing her. Then she lifted the top one off and gave it to Harry, making his eyes widen at the thought of what would happen if _he_ spilled everything. _That would get me back into the cupboard real quick._ She took one of the taller glasses, filled with something pink-red and slushy looking, and passed it to Dudley, followed by a glass of chocolate milk, which left Harry with his own pink slush and a glass of regular milk. Looking between their two trays, he saw that while this was not the only difference in what she'd given them, there was less of a gap in how much food they'd been allotted than what he would have expected.

As he tried working out just how many more chocolate and raisin biscuits his cousin had than him, and Dudley scowled at the sliced apples and sandwiches in disgust, they both failed to notice the pinched frown Petunia wore as she looked between them speculatively.

"What's this?" Dudley asked as he poked the tall glass of slush, causing it to wobble ominously for a moment.

"Fruit smoothie, Duddy dear, and please be careful. I don't want anything spilling up here, and try not to leave any crumbs," she said with an indulgent smile, and then she reached out and petted his hair affectionately.

Harry tried his best not to pay attention to them. He didn't know what it was about Dudley that kept him from getting into trouble but he'd decided a long time ago that it didn't make enough sense for him to be able to figure it out. He'd be charming secrets from cats before he worked out how to keep from getting into trouble with his aunt.

"No rough-housing," she told them, and Harry nearly rolled his eyes. "Remember what I said about not wearing Harry out."

"Yes, Mummy," Dudley answered in a bored tone.

Harry stared after her as she left, wondering again just what was wrong with his family.

"Dummy," Dudley muttered under his breath.

He glared at him, wondering if he could kick him out of the guestroom without getting kicked out himself.

"It's because you look like you've been crying, you _baby,"_ Dudley snidely explained, "_that's_ why she said not to wear you out."

"I wasn't!" 

"You were!"

"I _wasn't!_ And if I was, it would be _your_ fault anyway, you twit!"

"Don't you call me names when I'm being nice to you!" he snarled back.

"You're _not_ being nice to me!"

"I am _too._ I haven't stolen anything off your plate yet, have I?"

Harry pouted. _"Yet."_

"Well, I _won't._ So shut up." He then picked up three biscuits in one hand and dunked them all into his chocolate milk at once, so that it sloshed over the sides and onto the tray. Thankfully, there were raised edges and it didn't end up all over the bedspread.

He did roll his eyes then, knowing that his cousin simply couldn't resist the lure of food for very long. It even disturbed his telly-watching, when he got to the bottom of a bag or bowl and knew there was more of what he wanted in the kitchen.

Picking at his own plate, he wondered if Dudley even knew how to be nice. "I thought you said you weren't going to call me names anymore."

"Pssh," Dudley scoffed, spewing crumbs, "that's not what I said." He looked down then and mumbled, "I'm just not going to get you into trouble anymore. Least not for things you haven't done."

"Oh. Okay." _That's still a good deal. And being name-called is, at last, something normal in the world._ Satisfied with this middle-ground, he took more interest in eating, happy once more just to have a full meal in front of him. He lifted the tall glass of pink slush and took a cautious sip; his eyes widened and he tipped it towards him for a bigger gulp. _So sweet!_ "Wow."

Dudley scrunched up his nose. "What? It's just _fruit_."

Harry started to shake his head at his cousin, then stopped and just took another large swallow of the syrupy drink.

Giving his cousin a doubtful look, Dudley eyed the repulsive slush speculatively. He really didn't want to touch it. Fruit was always either too bitter or too soft and it never made him feel full; he nearly hated it. Across from him, Harry closed his eyes and hummed in appreciation. Decided, he picked up his own glass, holding it before himself for a moment in hesitation and then quickly taking a drink of it. He nearly choked but was pleasantly surprised by the taste. "It's like candy!"

Eyes snapping up in attention, Harry asked in an excited tone, "It is? What kind?"

"The hard stuff you've gotta suck on. And some of the cream-filled ones." Like his cousin, he then abandoned talking for further tasting.

Only ever having had candy on rare occasions, as he was apparently 'already too energetic for his own good,' Harry quite liked the idea that he was getting something which was at least like the forbidden treats. As accustomed to getting into trouble as he was, it was a thrill for him to think that he was finally getting away with something.

The boys ate in amicable silence, Dudley absorbed in his food and Harry cautious of breaking the strange peace between them. When they finished, Harry passed his second sandwich over to his cousin, who had cleared his own plates, and approached the question that had been swimming in his head for the past quarter hour. "Earlier, you said something about angels, didn't you?"

The corner of the last remaining sandwich in his mouth, Dudley froze with wide eyes. He stared for a moment, then gathered himself together and bit off a piece of his sandwich. Harry got the feeling that he was only chewing so much to buy time.

"My Mum and Dad are angels," he volunteered to get the conversation started. "Aunt Tuna said so. They're up in heaven."

"They are? Angels, I mean?" Dudley sounded a bit shaken at the idea. "Are you sure?"

"Well, yeah." His brows furrowed. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"I dunno. Just - maybe they don't..."

"What? Fly?"

Dudley went pale. "They can fly?"

"It's what the wings are for, Dudley."

"Oh. Right. Okay."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

Harry sighed quietly. "What were you saying about angels earlier, Dudley?"

"Oh. Well, you know how they saved us in the car, right?"

_I get the feeling that this is going to be another one of those long, long talks._ "What? No, wait. _When?"_

"When the truck hit us," he said in surprise, "when you got sick. I guess you were already sleeping then," he added thoughtfully.

Harry cast his mind back, trying to recall. _Aunt Tuna went to the park with Dudley and I slept in the car. She was real happy when she told me so. We were still riding when I woke up, though._ Then he remembered the most distinctive part of the evening for him; his Uncle Vernon had snapped at him and Dudley. "The roads were slick," Harry said quietly, repeating the warning that had alarmed everyone in the car. He closed his eyes, trying to force his last memory of that night to resolve into something more than fear. _I was looking for something. No, listening. There was so much yelling and -_ He opened his eyes. _I don't understand._

For a moment, muffled by terror in the backseat of the car, he thought that he _had_ understood. Everything. _I was trying so hard to hear...too much screaming. But I felt it - I felt..._ Everything. He heaved in a deep breath of air, not having realized that he'd stopped breathing. It was ridiculous, with as much time as he'd spent in the dark of his cupboard just trying to find _something._ Sensing the secrets living beneath the surface of a plant or animal - or Dursley - was one thing but this had been...his imagination? _I felt Aunt Tuna. Uncle Vernon. Dudley. Trees and grass and wildflowers and mice and owls and -_ Everything. _So worried. Scared. Strong. Sleeping, breathing, swaying, peaceful, hunted, hunting. So busy, so quiet in the woods. I wasn't trying to listen to them; I just wanted to hear...I wanted to find what could hurt us. Danger,_ he recalled vaguely, _that's what I was looking for. I wanted to see it coming. The screaming got so loud._

"Harry?"

He looked up and saw that Dudley seemed a bit worried.

"You're not scared to remember, are you? Mummy said not to bring it up." Then he bit his lip, either out of worry for his cousin or that he'd be told on.

"No," he breathed, "no, I'm not scared, Dudley." _I've never been less scared in my life._ "Tell me what happened after I went to sleep."

"Well, the truck hit us and the windows broke and then there was all this light and Mummy screamed and the car spun around and then we hit a wall or something but the car just kind of bounced. Everywhere, stuff was all lit up and we were lit up, 'cept you weren't, and I was the brightest one. At first it was too light to see anything but then it wore off real slow and it turned out to be some sort of dome all around the car, like an alien force field. If you were secretly an alien, you'd tell me, right?" he asked with suddenly narrowed eyes.

"Sure," he agreed easily. _If nothing else, it might scare you. 'Beware my wrath, for I am actually Gletchimarre, Prince of the Martians, and I might just zap you with my mind.' Yeah, that could be handy._

"Oh. 'Kay. And you're _not?"_

_Ruin my fun..._ "Nope. Or if I am, I don't know it."

Dudley looked thoughtful at that. "Yeah...you know, maybe you are." He looked his cousin over closely. "It would make way more sense. Then you'd just be sick 'cause you're tired from using your alien powers up on that force field."

_That...actually makes sense. Only it would be monster powers, wouldn't it? Maybe, if I really am getting monster powers, the others will come for me soon._ He felt a thrill run through him, heightening his joy at the idea of having done what he was nearly sure he had. If he could find a _friend_ because of this...

"But that's not what Mummy says it was. She says we were saved by angels. That good people get protected like that, when they can be."

Harry's eyes widened at this thought and he leaned back against his pillows, absorbing the notion. Angels, like his parents. He ran over what he knew had happened. He'd been frightened, desperate for his family's safety and seeking in the shadows for things that could hurt them. Somehow, he had wound up sensing more of the world than ever before; he'd never been so aware in his life. Dudley said a light came next, some barrier that had guarded them all from the crash. I was already sleeping then, though. Maybe...if I could feel everything, then maybe it wasn't just monsters I could have talked to.

He focused his eyes on Dudley, since the other boy knew more about what had happened than he did. "Do you think, maybe it was my parents?" His heart was racing at the thought. Could he have spoken to them? _Can I do it again?_

Dudley seemed alarmed by the thought, at first shaking his head, looking horrified. "No, no. I don't think they'd, well..." He trailed off as he held his cousin's gaze, seeming to lose whatever arguments he had as the seconds ticked by. "Yeah, I guess. Maybe." His voice was weak and terribly unconvincing, but Harry didn't need much affirmation.

"Yeah," he said with a dazed smile, "they must've." _My parents protected me._ He grinned as he stared off into space.

Shifting uncomfortably, Dudley wondered if he should feel guilty about saying that yeah, it had probably been Harry's _parents_ who'd made him sick, or relieved, because he was doing it to be _nice,_ which was supposed to mean he was _good._ He settled for ignoring the subject. "Want to play war?" Harry snapped out of his dream world and stared at him in shock. "I can bring my men over from my room, if you want. We can set them up on the bed."

Harry's jaw wavered up and down for a moment. "I - uh - yeah, sure. That'd be...are _you_ an alien?" He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"No!" Dudley snapped in annoyance. "Have you ever _seen_ me in a flying saucer?"

"You've never seen me in one either. You still said _I_ was."

"Well, yeah," Dudley said as he got off the bed with his meal tray in his hands, "but you're _weird."_ He carried his tray over to the chair against the wall and set it down on the seat, then came back to the bed and retrieved Harry's, stacking the glasses together and putting it on top of the other. Then he walked out to the hall and into his room, shutting his door behind him.

Harry shook his head, unsure of what he should make of that. Was his cousin coming back? Would he really bring toys and play with him? _Had_ he been possessed by an alien?

Then he thought of another explanation for the world he'd woken up to. _Dudley said that he and Aunt Tuna and Uncle Vernon were glowing, but I wasn't. Dudley glowed the brightest, and so far he's the weirdest. I wasn't glowing at all, and I feel normal, except for being tired. If it really was my parents who protected us all..._

Suddenly, the world made sense again. It was a sort of sense which no Dursley would understand, but he was quite familiar with it. A marvelous trick had been played, a great mystery had been woven into the world and he knew the secret. He relaxed completely for the first time since he'd woken up.

His parents had given him a gift. This Dursley mystery was the trick of angels. They'd done something to them...

Dudley's door opened and he came back into the room, carrying an armful of toys to the bed.

Harry's Mum and Dad had made it so the Dursleys would treat him better. For all the world, he wasn't going to question the gift. He'd enjoy it for as long as it could last.

Shoving the pile of toys into the center of the bed, Dudley clambered up and sat down in front of it with his legs crossed. "Right," he said with a nod, "first thing's the captains." He held up two figures which were much larger than all the rest, clad in cloth and plastic knight's armor. "This one in white is Sir Dudley-"

"Dudley?"

"_Sir_ Dudley," Dudley corrected. "He's the white knight, so he's the leader of the good guys. And this is Sir - um, he doesn't have a name. He's the black knight, so he's in charge of the bad guys."

"'Sir Um He Doesn't Have A Name?'"

"Well, he doesn't. He's the black knight anyway. Who cares what he's called?"

Harry looked at him for a moment before nodding. "You totally named him 'Sir Harry,' didn't you?"

Dudley opened his mouth to protest, and then snapped it shut and looked a bit put out. "How'd you know?"

He shrugged. "It just makes sense."

"Then you wanna play with the bad guys?" He sounded rather hopeful, tightening his grip around Sir Dudley.

Eyeing the pitch black attire of Sir Um His Name Is Harry, he nodded eagerly. If the rest of the guys were split up this way, he'd end up with an army of shadow men.

"Good," Dudley said as he passed the dark knight over. Harry fingered the smooth cloth of the body suit showing between plates of armor and curiously bent the knight's knees and elbows.

"Now, you get all the other black knights, the aliens and Kong. I get the white knights, the army men, the dinosaurs and Leopold."

Harry looked between his men and Dudley's. He'd gotten six black knights which were about half as tall as Sir Harry, three on horse back and three on foot with shields and swords; this was just the same as what Dudley had in his white knight brigade. There were three aliens, two of them skinny, short and olive colored with great big eyes and heads shaped like light bulbs. The third alien was a girl with scaly blue skin, but she had six tentacles, so that was alright. Against the aliens were three human army men in camouflage, two of them toting guns; he really wasn't sure if that was fair or not. Then he had Kong, a big hard plastic gorilla who seemed to be frozen mid-scream, set up against two small T-Rexes and Leopold, a big stuffed lion.

"Ready?"

Glancing between Sir Harry and Sir Dudley, Harry nodded. "Ready to win."

Dudley snorted. "You can't _win,_ Harry."

"And why not?"

"'Cause the good guys _always_ win and you've got all the _bad guys_. You _have_ to lose. You just get to fight first."

Harry narrowed his eyes. "We'll see about that."

* * *

Petunia was considering getting her son a puppy. He was apparently fond of looking after and playing with pitiful creatures. Surely a dog would be more appropriate than Harry. _Stop. I've promised Vernon that I would try. If my Duddy dear wants to spend time with his cousin, it's likely good for both of them. He'll get tired of playing with him eventually. I certainly don't want to get him a puppy anyway - one wild beast in the house is quite enough._

Still, Dudley's behavior was confounding. Her baby had insisted that he sit and stay with Harry that morning, no matter what entertainments she'd tried to lure him away with. Really, the boy had been _sleeping_ the first few hours, and her Duddy was not known for his patience. Now, he'd apparently been playing with his cousin for two and a half hours. It was unheard of for her Duddy to have such tolerance for Harry's 'babyish' behaviors. She couldn't understand what new appeal Harry held.

He was such a strange little thing. He'd seemed so soft and vibrant the night before, so painfully like a sulky Lily - then he'd gone and asked her if _she_ was alright. An odd duck, just like his mother. _He'll go to ruin, just like his mother._ Petunia indulged herself and lay down on the couch, bringing a hand up to try to rub the headache from her temple. She could not afford to invest in the boy. Civility, she would manage with some practice. She'd provide for him a bit better, as Vernon kept encouraging. If nothing else, Harry wasn't worth a fight with her husband; at least not when she already agreed with him in theory. They _did_ owe a debt and she felt much better writing it off with a checkbook than actually becoming _involved_ with the boy.

Shrieks of laughter echoed down the stairs and her son's deeper chortles followed. 

_None_ of them could afford to get involved with Harry.

Dudley was practically cackling as his cousin giggled.

The boy was poison, to himself if not everyone around him. He wouldn't last.

Her home hadn't sounded so happy in years.

Petunia found herself irrationally fighting to _keep_ her headache.

* * *

AN: Opinions?


	9. Palm Pricking

**cyiusblack,** here you go then. **Satsukifujin,** thank you. I've always thought of Petunia as the greater evil. **Rosygirl,** thank you. Your questions were part of my own motivation for writing this story. What would happen if Harry entered Hogwarts with a sense of self-value and less of a scarred history? Will he end up too soft or will it make him stronger? Is he going to be more or less easily taken advantage of, and by whom? I can hardly wait for it all to fall together. **codewarriorace,** thank you. I couldn't bear to just have a snap of the fingers followed by domestic bliss; everyone involved has serious issues and just brushing over that would take all the fun out of things. Don't worry, Harry's going to be a walking astonishment in wizardry. However just as with the Dursley situation, his power growth is going to be slow and as realistic as I can make it. **Black Fabrication,** thank you! I don't know why you say you're horrible at reviewing; I'm certainly happy with your review. I'm glad you like my Harry so much. I do think it's more likely that a child who doesn't just feel magic around them but also has a certain magic about themselves would be the one to stumble upon its existence and employ it. I think that many children feel that they see the world as no one else can and in a way I believe this is correct; the results of the impressions upon their minds before they have joined a collective mentality are fascinating and unlikely for anyone but them to fully understand. **HappeeGoLuckee,** thank you, I really do want to hear whether things are still alright. Snuffles is still in Azkaban and he's going to stay there for awhile. **Johnny-on-the-spot,** thank you. Petunia's reckoning is a long, long way off, but I do understand your want to see it right now. Harry and Dudley are each intelligent and slytherin-like in their own ways. Dudley's the greater sneak and liar, certainly. Harry's the more suspicious, subtle and watchful. They both underestimate and depreciate each other, but they are only children and are also in a position of brotherly rivalry. If you meant something else in calling Harry a punk, please do elaborate as I'd be happy to hear your critique. **Canadian Harry Potter Fan,** thank you! It really does speak poorly of the Dursleys that the only explanation Harry has for their being nice is mind control. I've never been able to stand the Brady Bunch, I much prefer Growing Pains. I hope to always keep the Dursleys as human as they can be - and perhaps a few notches better, considering. ;) I'm glad you're not too anxious to see Harry start levitating the kitchen table or transfiguring his relatives. **Jaid Ziaen,** thank you and oh my god my story has an official stalker! I'm so happy that you're happy! It seems the things you like best about this story so far are the things I like best too. It doesn't take much for Harry to squeeze hearts, does it? Pad-da is going to be handled in his turn but how things will turn out with Sirius, even I'm not certain. I'm debating between a few plots for him but it will all play out far down the road; he won't be directly addressed until after Harry starts Hogwarts. **elfgirl325,** thank you. I think it also makes a difference that Vernon has thus far personally witnessed magic only in a positive way, that being Harry's healing and protective magic. I can't confuse Dudley's naive mindset of the world revolving around him with the mentality of a sadist. He's bratty and a bit cruel, as some children tend to be, but hardly horror movie worthy. **Anonymous,** thank you for reviewing. I think Petunia's more likely to snap and spill, rather than share and care. Admitting to a fear of losing Harry after she's grown attached to him would require admitting to herself that he matters to her on a personal level and for now, she's clinging to her denial. Most of this chapter is a conversation between Vernon and Petunia, so I hope it doesn't disappoint. My writing is superb? Really? Excuse me while I bounce around in joy. **Caldonya,** thank you. 'Trick' is such a sneaky word. More like, 'subtly convince.'

**AN:** **Semi-important note.** In chapters two and six, I incorrectly stated Dudley's age as five. The date is July twenty-third, 1986, so Harry is five but Dudley of course has already turned six. I've changed the two previous mentions of him as five to reflect as much. I apologize for the confusion.

* * *

Chapter 9: Palm Pricking

Harry yawned and burrowed beneath the covers contentedly. Dudley was a cheat at war, though he couldn't say he minded. Sir Dudley's men had been losing to Sir Harry's, so Dudley evened things out by attacking Harry with the stuffed lion Leopold. Harry had nearly fallen off the bed laughing as the toy's mane had tickled him under his chin. He'd lost, as all his aliens and Kong got shoved off way out of the way and then his knights were knocked over and buried by Dudley's army. The only remaining man had been the black knight Sir Harry, clutched tightly in Harry's fist and held away from Dudley's assault. When his cousin eyed the last knight craftily, Harry promptly surrendered.

He blinked sleepily as Dudley came back into the guestroom, after just having toted all of the toys back to his bedroom. "Thanks for playing with me, Dudley," he mumbled out.

"Sure. I like beating you anyway." He came over and sat on the edge of the bed, a smug look on his face.

"Hm. I'll win next time though, now I know the rules."

"Rules?"

"Yeah, ya know. How there aren't any."

"But there are," Dudley said in surprise.

After being clobbered in the face with one of the players, Harry was doubtful. "What are they then?"

"There's only two, really. The bad guys lose. The good guys win."

Harry scrunched up his nose. "That's the same thing, and it doesn't make sense. How's it fair if I can't win?"

Dudley got a thoughtful look, and then gave his cousin an assessing glance. "Did you have fun?"

"Yes." _More than ever before, really. I wonder why. _He considered it a moment, blushing in humiliation when he realized the answer._ I want Dudley to like me. God, I'm stupid._

"Then it's fair," Dudley said in triumph.

Harry nodded, distracted and depressed by his own thoughts. "Sure. Thanks, Dudley." There wasn't any response, and he looked up to find himself receiving a look like he was doing something strange. _I haven't even thought of crawling through a window in months. Stop looking at me like that._ It reminded him of the way his Uncle had looked that night at dinner, when his Aunt Tuna had said he might be 'touched in the head.' His eyes widened as he remembered that. _Dudley aimed right for my head with Leopold._ He pouted and couldn't help but give his cousin a hurt look as he bit his tongue against causing trouble for himself.

Dudley's expression shifted into confused concern and he shook his head. "You're probably really tired. Mummy said not to wear you out. Sorry."

"'S okay."

"Right," he said with a nod, "goodnight, Harry." He sat there waiting a moment. "Well? Go to sleep."

Harry snorted. "I'll never be able to sleep with you sitting there watching me," he said tiredly.

"Sure you can. You did it this morning."

"That's different. I didn't even know you were there, 'til I woke up."

"Oh. Want me to hide?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Why do you want to stay with me anyhow? Why don't you go watch the telly?"

Dudley bit his lip and his gaze roamed to the doorway for a moment, before he turned back to his cousin. "I just want to make sure you're...you know. Getting better."

"Hmm," Harry hummed as he fought to keep his eyes open.

"Hold on," Dudley said suddenly, and he rushed out of the room and across the hall, stomping into his bedroom. Harry closed his eyes to rest them for a moment and when he opened them, Dudley was walking towards back in with Sir Dudley. He sat the white knight on the nightstand and nodded in satisfaction. "That'll keep anything bad from happening," he said smugly. He looked back to Harry and raised both eyebrows, his previous concern gone without a trace. "I'm gonna go watch my shows. Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone." He tilted his chin up and added, "I wouldn't want to miss the laugh."

Stunned both by the thoughtful gesture and the good insult, Harry simply watched as his cousin left the room, closing the door behind him. A moment later, he heard Dudley's heavy feet descending the stairs. He looked to the side, seeing Sir Dudley's pearl-silver armor and white tunic, one arm raised in front of him with a sword slipped into his fist and the other bent against his side with a shield clasped over his forearm. Dudley had given up his namesake, the leader of his white knights, to guard over his cousin.

Harry went to sleep feeling strangely choked, hands fisting the blankets.

* * *

When Vernon came home from work, he was on his best behavior. He kissed his wife's cheek, asked about her day and offered to help her prepare dinner, even though they both knew he couldn't go through five paces in a cooking process without meeting personal injury. She'd seemed pleased enough at the attention, until he'd stepped away back towards the doorway to the entrance hall. A fiercely accusing gleam came into her eye then, and he stepped forward again, suppressing a sigh as he saw that slipping away to the upstairs just then would have him sunk.

He sat down at the kitchen table, facing Petunia's work circle of appliances and cupboards, trying to look innocent. "So, how were the boys? Any peace?" _They haven't killed each other?_

She sniffed. "Dudley spent nearly the entire day sitting in the guestroom. The boy was only _sleeping_ for hours! I think our baby needs better toys to amuse himself with. He's too easily entertained."

"Hmph. Any fighting once the boy woke up?"

"I don't know," she said tersely, "I heard some ruckus but I think they were playing."

Vernon sat up straighter. "Should they be? I thought that Harry would be too..._fragile,_ for rough-housing right now." _If those bruises were anything accidental, he'd have to be._

She shrugged, feigning carelessness. "A bit of fun won't kill him. He isn't a glass figure, he's just not quite as tough as most everyone else is at that age."

His eyes narrowed against his will as he looked his wife over speculatively. She'd been stressing Harry's need for rest, which would rule out rough-housing immediately. Either she was trying to evade further claims that she was mistreating him or she was defending Dudley. One way or the other, pursuing the matter was a route to an unproductive argument and letting it slip might win him points later. "Well, we'll just have to remind Dudley to play carefully with him," he said in a disinterested manner.

"Mm. I've already mentioned it to him." She tensed at the memory and sneered, "He _apologized._ He'd only gone up there to keep the little monster company and he wound up coming downstairs to say _'sorry,'_ for making him _laugh too much."_

"Hm? Good the boys are getting along then. I've been worried they wouldn't know how to make friends, when they get to school."

"I'm sure our Duddy will have plenty of friends," she countered dismissively. "He's such a charming, sweet little boy."

Vernon nodded. "Yes, he'll probably win them over like flies to honey. _I_ always had a large group of friends in school." He snorted. "We'll be overrun by a horde of little boys in no time at all." Petunia had gone still and silent, but he pressed on. "Imagine that, love. A house full of children who our Dudley will grow up with. Ogling one of your desserts one day and the next, off to school games together, outings in the city, college."

"He hasn't even started school yet, Vernon. There's no need to be ridiculous," she snipped.

"Of course, dear, of course. I only meant that the time's going to pass quickly for _him,_ too." That provoked a thoughtful silence. She stood chopping scallions with her brows furrowed, clearly a world, or rather generation, away.

"Well," she said at last, "we'll just have to make sure to help him use it wisely." She lifted her chopping board and scraped the vegetables into a sauce pan on the stove, and then she set her things down and wiped her hands on a dish towel. "We can certainly afford to feed a few extra mouths."

_Excellent point, Pet._ "Yes, we're lucky that's one thing we've never had to think about."

She turned to him with a rare, warm smile. "_Luck_ just means happy coincidence, Vernon. It's because of how hard you work," she said in a sincerely appreciative tone.

"Ah," he said in good humor, "married well, did you?"

_"Very,"_ she agreed in a playfully smug tone as she came over and sat across from him at the table.

_Well that's always good news._ He took advantage of her good mood and clasped her hand in his own on the table between them. _If there's any bit of her that isn't all Dursley woman, let it rise up now and keep her from catching on and clawing me in a moment._ "I've always only wanted for you to want for nothing, Pet," he said, and gave her hand a squeeze.

A sour frown flickered over her face before she replaced it with her usual pursed lips, as she thought of what she still wanted in life. "Yes, well. We certainly do have a lot," she conceded in a flat tone.

_But not another baby. This is a suicidal topic to walk into._ Pushing his worries down, he thought of the _happy coincidence_ it was that he'd married such a strong, beautiful woman and he smiled at her adoringly. "Certainly," he agreed, "we _do_ have a lot." A moment went by, growing from tense to content as Petunia weighed his words and apparently found the meaning she wished for. He wasn't sure if she was more upset at their lack of a second child because she'd wanted one or because he had but making it clear that he was happy with his lot seemed like the right first move in his secret match of wits with her. After all, one of the main sources of contention over Harry was that she viewed him as a poor replacement for and horrible distraction from her own child; what he was and that he'd been produced by her newly married younger sister were just poison on the cake, as Vernon saw it.

_Either this will go off swimmingly or she'll murder me._

The pointed nails of her slender fingers were pricking his palm as he held her hand. It was possible she wasn't _consciously_ ready to stab him.

"Love?" He asked as though just having thought of something.

"Hm?" she hummed out shortly.

_Courage up, man! There are worse ways to suffer than by the hand of a beautiful woman._ "Have you given any thought to what we'll do about the boy, once he's well?"

The nails dug into his palm compulsively; she actually looked too distracted for it to be something deliberate. She shook her head uncertainly. "I know you've been thinking about it, Vernon."

"Yes, well. There's more to it than just what's fair to the boy. We have to keep Dudley in mind."

Her gaze snapped to him, riveted at the mention of her argument against all things Harry.

"Once he starts school, if he's going to have friends over...we'd need a plan on how to deal with Harry. You and I know why he needs more control than most children but we couldn't expect school boys to understand it, or their parents if they went home and told them something that shouldn't leave the house. Children gossip, love; if they see something odd here, they'll be repeating it to the whole neighborhood before the next day."

Petunia had paled, her eyes wide in shocked realization. Vernon hoped he knew her thoughts. What he aimed for them to be was that if they continued to treat Harry abnormally, they would have to deprive their precious joy of something vitally important to his life. Petunia would never elect to neglect Dudley.

"We'll have to keep him hidden. We can say he's just very shy."

Vernon frowned, his eyes darkening. "And we'll explain it to the boy how? If we punish him whether he behaves or not, he'll never learn the difference. And where could we keep him? Where won't a precocious child want to explore? And besides the guests, you know what fuss Harry can cause all on his own. What if there's a giant crash from the cupboard or the basement? All it takes is the suspicion of one young mind and we'll have a mob outside our doors. Or worse, they'll talk about us behind our backs."

Petunia shivered. "No, no, Vernon. We'll work something out; it will never come to that." She leaned back in her chair, withdrawing her hand from his grasp and crossing her arms over her chest.

Vernon waited patiently for her to come to the most rational conclusion. Giving up the spare bedroom originally intended for their _own_ offspring would gall her but less so than it had when Harry first joined their family.

She shook her head with a slight scowl. "Best for all if he moves back upstairs."

"Hm. As you say, love."

"But we'll have to dress it up some. Make it look _normal,_ natural God help him if he tears it apart, I'll wring his neck."

"Is that really necessary? We could just lock the door to his room while Dudley has friends over, send Harry out to play in the yard until they're gone..."

"And what about in the winter? Have him hanging about the living room? Even then, eventually someone would try the knob on Harry's door and when they found it locked, they'd go twittering on about it. It would be too much of a curiosity. All of Little Whinging would be speculating on it. We could say we don't trust Harry to be alone unsupervised, that he has some sort of physical frailty...but that would only make things more complicated for us in the long run, with the demand of doctor's visits and names of his disorder and medications... No, we're just going to have to pretend he's normal and treat him that way," she finished with a frazzled nod to herself.

"I suppose you're right, Pet. I'll start looking 'round for some second hand children's furniture. Can't trust him with anything too nice, of course."

"No, we can't," she tersely agreed.

"Perhaps it really is for the best, love. After all, we do owe him a reward and no expense can equal the value of Dudley's life."

A dark gleam came into her eyes then, and she looked at him as though seeing through him.

_Caught. Blast. Retreat and regroup!_ "I think I'll go check on the lad, see how he's faring."

"He's _sleeping."_

"All the same," he said as he got up and made his escape.

"_Both_ of you," he heard her say under her breath as he left, "_mad_ over the boy."

* * *

It was late when Harry woke, the darkness tempered by remembered light from his dreams. He stretched beneath the plush covers in the dark, basking in his memory. Singing fire and dancing trees; he often dreamt of these two things and they always left behind a feeling of comfort and happiness. Strange as the subjects were, he attributed the positive energy of the dreams to the fact that most of them were shot through with sunlight.

As his eyes adjusted, he noticed that the door to the guestroom, which he was remarkably still resting in, had been left open to allow light in from the nightlight in the hall. He clapped a hand against the nightstand until he found his glasses. Looking around, he blinked at the unexpected sight of the plush arm chair so close to his bed. _Dudley must have come up again, waiting for me to wake up because he was bored. Nice of him to not just poke me awake._ He smiled slightly as he spotted Sir Dudley still keeping watch in front of the lamp on the nightstand, but then squinted in the darkness as he saw something else there.

_What would Dudley be doing with a newspaper? He won't read and he hates the news. It's all boring stuff anyway, and the pictures aren't any good._ He bit his lip at the curiosity. The answer was obvious and disconcerting; it had to have been either his aunt or uncle who had left the paper there and only one of them was in the habit of reading the paper outside of the kitchen.

_Uncle Vernon was waiting for me to wake up. Or watching to make sure I wouldn't cause trouble._ The latter seemed far more likely to him and he swallowed nervously; his uncle was always the first one to catch him at doing something the Dursleys said was wrong. Then an awful thought struck him. _If Aunt Tuna and Dudley have gotten turned around, what if the same thing's happened to Uncle Vernon? What if he hates me now, like they did before?_

Getting up out of bed to go to the bathroom, he rubbed his hands over his arms to ward off an imagined chill.


	10. Singing Fire

**cyiusblack,** thank you. **HarbringerLady,** I'm not sure which incident you were referencing. If you meant the accident, then the answer would be the whole story, and if you meant the snake, then I'm not telling. **Hayden Elrics,** your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated. All that I need to write more are reviews like yours, so that I know the story is still doing well. Beyond that, I love the story enough that I chip away at it compulsively. **Canadian Harry Potter Fan,** thank you so very much for your review. Now that things are going to start rolling more quickly with the Dursleys, I do hope that I can maintain that sense of realism in pace. I keep catching myself rushing. Wanting more children serves as motivation for Vernon but for Petunia, it's actually been a deterrent from accepting Harry - she took his arrival as a bit of a slap in the face from the universe. **sanyal,** their revolutions will bring them somewhere soon enough. **Anonymous,** your review had me bouncing off the walls ridiculously. Thank you. Harry's certainly going to be watching for the other shoe to drop, as it's a bit much for anyone to expect that sort of bizarro world to last forever. 'Did anyone in the Wizarding World notice the magical discharge?' Excellent question! I don't have an answer! I'm not sure yet whether this story is going to conform to the Deathly Hallows canon of the Trace or the traditional fanon that magical activity is monitored via wands. Whether anyone outside of the MOM noticed is a matter I hadn't considered, and is the MOM really competent enough that it makes a difference whether they knew or not? They seem to ignore all incidents of accidental magic in children below school age, or else I would expect someone to have obliviated a few of Harry's teachers over the years, not to mention the zoo workers. When the muggle truck driver goes on the news babbling about a UFO from which horrifying creatures emerged after nearly destroying his vehicle - I'd think that's when someone might sit up and do their job, not before. **Jaid Ziaen,** I'm thrilled to have a stalker, really. :) I think you're possibly the only reader thus far who wants to give Petunia a hug. It's quite refreshing, since most people are expressing a desire to see her crushed. I will indeed be writing this for ages. With all of the time I'll be putting into Pre-Hogwarts, I think it would be an awful waste to just let the story be, instead of following through. I do intend to break things up though - right now I'm figuring that the best spot would be the summer after second year - with the reasoning that I don't want to have to boost the rating on this story to T, nor do I wish to restrict myself with content. So, once Harry's a teen, he's going to mosey on over to a sequel. However, that really is forever away - and Sirius is going to be around by then. **Bobboky,** thanks. The title's relevance to the story will not be evident until some point in the future. You didn't miss any notes, I only mentioned it in a reply to a review by sanyal, at the bottom of chapter five. So far it's just the two of you who have asked about it. **H.E. Gray,** I'm glad Vernon's winning you over. I will indeed keep going - this story's got an Energizer Bunny vibe for me. **WolfMoon,** thank you, I hope that you continue to enjoy the story.

Notes: There's a reason for this lateness, really. If you can believe it, I accidentally started writing chapter eleven instead of ten. I couldn't make any progress until I admitted to myself that what I was working with was in fact the wrong chapter, and then started over. I did leave a note in my profile to this effect, and for the record, if I go this long without an update again there will be some sort of explanation beneath this story's summary in my profile. Otherwise, assume I've been hit by a truck or something similar.

Chapter 10: Singing Fire

"Give them back!"

Harry fell back against the pillows, grasping three of Dudley's white knights by their extremities and doing his best to hold onto them as his cousin tried to pry them away. "No! They're p-p- _ach!"_ Dudley's knee was crushing his calf but he held strong, twisting his arm around behind his back and puffing his chest up importantly, giving a mild glare.

Dudley backed off from crushing his cousin with a sour look on his face. _"Fine."_ He turned his attention back to the scattered toys on the bedspread and lunged for some of Harry's men. "Then all your aliens are in prison, too!" He swept them all away determinedly, pushing them far behind himself, where Harry couldn't reach. For good measure, he went and took all the black knights and Kong, too.

"That's alright," Harry said pleasantly. "Here, you can have your knights back, too." He passed them over with a grin.

"What are you so happy about, dummy? You just surrendered."

"Nope. I win."

Dudley snorted. "You haven't even got any men left."

Holding up the black knight Sir Harry, Harry corrected, "I've still got my leader."

"Against all my guys? _Pssh."_

"Not _all_ your guys." He held up Sir Dudley, the white knight who he had snatched up as Dudley was taking all his men away.

Dudley gasped, eyes going wide, then gave an awful scowl. "Give him _back,_ Harry!"

"Surrender," he offered agreeably.

Foregoing further argument, their previous tussle over the smaller white knights was renewed as Dudley tried to get his namesake away from his cousin, who was holding the toy as far out of reach as possible and edging away as much as he could, half-crushed as he was.

"Come _on, _Dudley. Just admit I win!"

"You _don't_ win! You cheated!"

"You cheat all the time!"

"It's only cheating when the bad guys do it!"

This sounded like complete nonsense to Harry but he tried to work it out, anyway. _The good guys can cheat because they're good, so everything they do, naturally, is good too._ He snorted at the thought and strained himself a bit further in keeping Sir Dudley out of reach. _So it's wrong for the bad guys for the same reason. No matter what they do, it's bad because they're bad._ He mulled it over a moment and saw the loophole. _I'm not one of the bad guys._

Harry gasped in a sharp breath suddenly and shrunk against the bed, giving a few weak coughs. Though Dudley had taken advantage and grasped onto Sir Dudley, he had frozen as he saw that his cousin wasn't feeling well. The leader of the good guys was loosely clasped between their two hands but neither of them tugged to keep him away from the other.

"Harry? Are you okay?" Dudley's voice sounded worried and a bit shaky.

Harry nodded, and then gave another light cough. "Sure." He let go of Sir Dudley as though no longer interested in their game.

Dudley retreated back, taking the knight with him. "Do you want me to get Mummy?"

"No," he shook his head, "don't. I'm fine, Dudley, really." He gave his cousin a tired smile and then let his eyes drift down to where Sir Dudley was held by the legs in Dudley's fist. "I guess you win."

Dudley looked down at the white knight and then over to his cousin guiltily. "I guess." He bit his lip.

Harry tried to cover his disappointment at Dudley's agreement, before he realized he should be disappointed, anyway. _How does Dudley keep up with this lying stuff everyday?_ "That's okay, I'm feeling tired anyhow." He settled a bit more comfortably, keeping his eyes averted from his cousin's.

"Maybe - maybe just this time, since you kind of only lost 'cause you don't feel good..."

Harry was surprised to feel a bit sick to his stomach. _Maybe I really don't want to win this way._ It had seemed like a great idea, to play sick and get Dudley's sympathy, but he'd forgotten how very real his cousin's newfound concern over his health was. "We'll call it a tie?" _After all, he did nearly crush me a few times, so neither of us has played fair - or nice._

Dudley looked pensive a moment before nodding. "Sure. Just this once, though."

Giving a nod of ascent while thinking that the next time, he'd just find a better way to win, Harry leaned back against the headboard and yawned. _At least I wasn't lying about being tired._

"I shouldn't have pushed you around so much."

"'S okay." He waved a hand expansively. "Part of the game, right?"

Tilting his head, Dudley narrowed his eyes in thought before snapping back to attention. "You should have told me you weren't feeling good, anyway," he said in an accusatory tone.

_Really, how does he deal with lying all the time? It feels rotten and keeps coming back._ "Sorry," he answered pathetically, though he knew Dudley didn't understand what he was apologizing _for._

"Yeah, well," Dudley said distractedly as he got off the bed and began gathering up his white knight's army, "that isn't good enough. So you and your evil army can just stay here in bed and _think_ about that," he said with a pinched pout, in a fairly good mimicry of his mother.

Harry nodded, trying to look penitent. "Sure, Dudley. We'll just sit here quietly and _not_ plot against you and your cheating good guys. Not even a _little_ plotting at _all_." He bit the corners of his lips to keep them down from a smile.

Dudley frowned at him. "Twit. Plotting wouldn't help you win anyway, you're hopeless." He shook his head, doing an unconscious impression of his father as he tried to look stern. "You had better be asleep by the time I get back here, Harry. Or else."

"Or else what?" Harry couldn't resist asking.

The menacing glare that overtook his cousin's face was one hundred percent Dudley. "Or else I'll pound your face in. Got it?"

Harry winced back and grimaced. "I thought you said-"

"I _am_ being nice to you." Dudley rolled his eyes in exasperation at how often he was having to repeat that line. "If you won't go to sleep for your own good, I'll knock your lights out _for_ you. See? I'm nice." He gave a smug smirk.

_Serious? Teasing. Serious? Maybe. _Harry shifted uncomfortably. He still wasn't sure where the line was, between the old and new versions of his cousin. Dudley would call him names but he'd also share jokes to make him laugh. He'd push him around but then ask if he was alright. _Would he punch me out to get me to sleep?_ It was too much of a grey area for him to be sure.

After a moment of silence, Dudley shrugged. "It's up to you," he said reasonably, and then he turned around and started towards the door.

"I'll probably be asleep in a few minutes anyway," Harry blurted, half-nervous about his cousin coming back in less than a minute and punching him 'for his own good.'

Dudley just continued walking on, though his head did raise a bit higher.

Harry shook his head, wondering at his own amusement. Brushing the aliens, dark knights and sundry away to the other side of the bed where he wouldn't knock them off in his sleep, he blinked tiredly and then got settled beneath the blankets. _Really, there was no reason to threaten me into going to sleep._ He yawned and rubbed his cheek against the smooth pillow case, finding it to be a clean and soothing sensation which he just couldn't get tired of. _It seems all I ever do lately is sleep. And eat, _he amended to himself. _And play. Alright, I can't complain._

_I'm not complaining. Really. Nope,_ he thought as he shrugged the covers to rest over his shoulders, _I'm not bored at all._

A bird twittered outside his window and Harry bit his lip as he felt the impulse to go check it out. On one hand, he wanted to _know,_ just as he always did. On the other hand, he was very interested in going to sleep. He settled for keeping his eyes closed but ears open, studying the pitches and rhythm of the bird's song silently.

Dudley came back a few moments later, toting Sir Dudley to keep watch on the room from the nightstand, and he was quite satisfied with himself when he saw that his bullying had worked and Harry had gone to sleep. Being nice was a lot easier, and more entertaining, than he would have thought before he'd tried it.

* * *

Vernon got home a few minutes later than usual, in spite of having left his work early. He and Petunia were either due for another fight or a day of tentative peace - it was always difficult to tell how things would balance out, but he had stopped on the way home and gotten a bouquet of flowers, a half dozen pink roses with baby's breath, to help tilt things in his favor. He gathered his suitcase, opened the door and then carefully eased the flowers out, worried about damaging them. A little shameless bribery had never hurt his case with Petunia, as she found it flattering to see that her feelings mattered to him at all; trying to _buy_ her over to his side of an issue showed that he cared what she thought, in its own way. Where most women would likely be insulted and furious, his Pet would give an indulgent smile. Vernon smiled himself as he thought of it; he knew what her smile actually meant, as he'd seen her give it to Dudley often enough whenever he was learning something new. 'Nice try, love,' it said sweetly, 'but that isn't quite right.'

He opened the door to his home and walked in to find Dudley sitting on the couch in front of the television, as usual. He dropped his suitcase to the floor beside the door and stepped forward into the living room, intending to ruffle his boy's hair as he walked by to the kitchen. He stopped when he heard Dudley muttering to himself. Assuming his son was in deep concentration over something on the telly, he looked to the screen to see what he was watching. Vernon stared stupidly for a moment; the screen was blank.

Looking back to his son, he tried adding that up to a logical conclusion. _His_ boy, _his_ Dudley, was sitting right in front of the television - not just in the same room even, but _directly_ across from it - and it wasn't turned on. He peered around his son's shoulder to see that he was holding up two handfuls of little white knights, which were apparently what he was muttering to. Taking a silent step closer, he perked his ears up.

"...very disappointed in you, and so is Sir Dudley. We can't let Harry and the evil Sir Harry come that close to winning again. The honor of your country is at stake. Plus, if you lose, I might bury you in the back yard. Piers told me he does it to his toys all the time."

Dudley jumped when he heard a great guffaw come from behind him. He twisted around and his eyes widened when he saw his father standing just a couple feet behind him. "Hi Daddy," he said quietly, tossing his errant army men onto the seat beside him. His eyes went to the bouquet his father was holding. "Mummy's mad at you?" he asked in a factual tone.

It was Vernon's turn to stare in surprise. "No. No! Of course not, Dudley." In case Petunia was eavesdropping, he added, "Your mother's just a very special lady, and she _deserves_ to have flowers, without there being an occasion."

Eyeing his father speculatively, Dudley gave a slow nod. "Uh huh." He turned back around but instead of reaching for his toys, he grabbed the remote control off from the coffee table and flicked the television on.

Vernon shook his head, feeling a touch put-out by his son's assumptions - and accuracy therein. "The troops were giving you sass?" He asked in an effort to prolong Dudley's moments out of a telly-induced haze.

Dudley twisted back around and screwed his face up. "They almost let Harry win. And he's playing with the bad guys!"

Giving a chuckle, he stepped forward and gave that hair ruffle he'd been meaning to get to. "At least playing with your cousin is keeping you on your toes, hm? Can't get too used to winning without any fight, son. That's not how the real world works at all."

Deflating at the mention of the 'real world,' which was often a prelude to a boring lecture, Dudley just nodded apathetically. "Sure. I guess." His eyes traveled to his mother's flowers pointedly. "Mummy's flowers are wilting." He watched in satisfaction as his father's eyes immediately swept over the slight wear on the petals before he gave a distracted nod.

"Right, best get them to her then. Good luck with your troops, son," he said as he left the room, going through the door to the dining room.

Dudley bit the inside of his lip and looked to the telly, going still for a few moments as he aimlessly flicked through the channels. He found a comedy show that was just a bit loud and then he set the remote on the coffee table and got up from the couch, creeping to the door of the dining room. Hearing nothing, he rerouted to the hallway and stood outside the door to the kitchen, where he could listen with less chance of being caught than he would have in the dining room. Placing his ear against the keyhole, he listened intently to find out whether or not his parents were still fighting over Harry, in spite of him getting better.

"...that green vase, with the vine print?"

"Ah, I think that was the one Marge's dog knocked over last summer."

"Oh," his mother said sourly, "yes, I'd forgotten. Really, bringing a terror like that inside a home..." There was a silence in which Dudley thought they may have been gearing up to have a fight about his Aunt Marge or her animals or even about how Harry was a worse thing to have in the house than a dog, which he'd heard his mother say before. Instead she said, "I've been thinking about what you said last night." There was a clinking noise, and Dudley figured that she had just set a vase down on the kitchen table for the flowers.

"About the McGillans?"

Dudley scrunched his face up at that horrible bit of acting.

"About Harry's birthday," she retorted smoothly, refusing to be baited.

_Harry doesn't have a birthday._

"Ah. And what do you think about it, Pet?"

There was a pause and then Dudley heard her say, "It's an excellent reason for moving him upstairs. It would be strange otherwise, if he were suddenly moved into the spare room for no reason at all. And besides," she began, and then carried on in a voice too low to be heard from the hallway.

_Spare room?_ He brought his fingertips to his mouth and began chewing at them absently, eyes wide. Harry moving back upstairs was a strange idea and he wasn't sure what to think about it. _It would be good for when I want to play with him._ He frowned around his fingers. _But I wouldn't get to wake him up with stomping on the stairs anymore. Couldn't lock him in for laughs, either, since there's no lock on that door._

"...Pet, we can always say that it's a matter of...

The most confusing thing of all was that his ratty little cousin might actually have - or be getting - a birthday. Birthdays were days when you were buried under a mountain of cake and presents and you got to do whatever you wanted and everyone had to be nice to you; it was rather difficult to imagine _Harry_ ever having a day like _that_.

* * *

Harry shifted closer to the fire which was humming to him. He was flying through the trees and all around him the world was burning, the fire singing softly to him as it brushed his skin. All else that he could see was light, from bright ivory to the golden warmth of the sun. Hearing a deep bark in the distance, he turned his head out to face the noise and saw his favorite tree in the forest dancing towards him. It came steadily closer before stopping at the edge of the fire Harry was surrounded by.

Gazing up at the thick branches sprouting from the top of the tree's trunk, he smiled as he watched their play with the light shining down through them. A feeling of content happiness surged through him and he relaxed into the warmth of the fire, even as it stopped singing. A pale streak of white fire reached out towards the tree, stroking at its edges without harm. Another bark sounded, closer to him this time, and Harry struggled to see through to the ground, where he could hear the crunching of leaves.

"You be careful tonight," the fire warned in an amused voice. The tree bent towards them in a bow and then turned and danced away, back into the woods. A happy bark came from right beneath him, and Harry squirmed against the fire's hold so that he could look down over the edge of the flames, into the dirt and foliage upon the ground, and the silky blackness trampling it. "Oh," the fire sighed dramatically, "and you too, I suppose." The answering bark sounded somewhat affronted and the fire laughed, free and melodic. It shook all around Harry, vibrant with energy. "Go have fun, serious."

The silky creature bounded off, away from them both, and the warmth around Harry tightened. "Always dancing with the flames," the fire remarked quietly. He felt it stroke the skin beneath his chin, coming up to tickle beneath his ears. "You'll be a behaved little lion, won't you?" He heard it ask behind the sound of his giggles. "Oh," it relented, "no, of course you won't." The world spun around and Harry began flying through the woods once more, the fire humming a lullaby as it swirled around him.

Harry yawned, silently agreeing. Of course he wouldn't be a good little lion. He was _always_ getting into trouble. The thought startled him slightly and the singing and light slowly faded, though the warmth remained. Shifting through the dark comfort around him, Harry perked his ears and heard a soft rustling noise. _Leaves? No, was a dream. Wasn't it?_ He stretched beneath what were becoming familiar blankets and then snuggled against the mattress and pillows as it fully registered in his mind that he was in bed and had been sleeping.

The rustling sounded again and Harry tensed, feeling sure that this was a real world noise. He opened his eyes warily and then turned over from one side to the other, so that he was facing the nightstand with his glasses on it. The lamp was on and he blinked against the light, shrugging beneath the covers as he spotted a large grey and white blur at the side of his bed. The rustling noise, which he now recognized as the crinkling of his Uncle Vernon's newspaper, became louder as the blur shifted.

"Harry?"

"Mmp," he grunted noncommittally, gathering the covers closer and debating whether or not he could get away with going back to sleep.

"How are you feeling?"

He blinked, wondering if it was a trick question. Normally, his uncle would only check to see if there was something wrong with him right after he'd done something supposedly wrong, and then a lecture would start. Lately, Aunt Tuna and Dudley had been constantly asking whether he was well or not, without him being in trouble at all. He bit his lip as he remembered that it was almost always his uncle who caught him out.

A white blur slowly came out towards him and he recognized the black tangle of smeared lines it was presenting. He took his glasses and slipped them on, getting his first clear look at his uncle since this whole Dursley madness had begun. The sight was somewhat familiar; his uncle's face was twisted with a concerned frown which he had seen a hundred times before and there was a new softness to the expression that reminded him of Dudley's recent imitations of the look. _Who's copying who?_ He stared in open assessment of the man before him, trying to find some cue as to whether he was going to be shouted down soon.

Vernon's brows drew together in a deeper frown than before. "Harry? Are you alright? Your aunt told me you've been feeling better." He reached out a hand and felt the boy's forehead to check for a fever and Harry twitched back in surprise.

"I'm fine," he half-whispered, worried that confirming he was alright would start the storm, as it had in the past.

Drawing his hand back, Vernon gave a satisfied nod. "Good, good. You had us all worried there, for awhile."

"Sorry."

"Yes, well. Just don't go getting sick again, eh?" He instructed jokingly.

Harry nodded reflexively, not at all sure how he could manage to avoid it, just as he was never sure how to stay out of trouble in general. "Okay," he agreed, hoping he wouldn't end up going against his word.

Vernon leaned back in the arm chair he had moved beside the bed, looking over his nephew as though he could find the answer to his problem written on him somewhere. He wanted to thank him, because without his intervention at least Dudley and Petunia would no longer be living, and an echo of madness still snuck through his mind at the notion of having to bury his wife and son. He couldn't ever thank him, since the boy should never know that he had some strange power living inside of him which could enable him to do extraordinary things, such as what he had done on that night. Whatever he did in expressing his gratitude, it had to be rational and reasonable enough that it could be brushed aside as nothing unusually special.

He cleared his throat and began their talk rather awkwardly with, "You know, you can't stay in the guest room forever, and you're getting too old to be sleeping the way you do, on that cot."

Harry's heart picked up its pace. He knew what 'too old' meant; it meant that something was going to be taken away, because either _it_ was too old or _he_ was too old for it. Once, a ragged teddy bear he'd loved had been deemed 'too old' by his Aunt Petunia and had gotten thrown into the trash. Toys Dudley had rejected, which had taught Harry his letters and numbers, were apparently too babyish for Harry, 'a growing boy.' He leaned back into the plump pillow behind him and pulled the blankets up to his chin as he fought against the urge to beg his uncle not to throw his bed away. He _hated_ getting older; all it meant was losing things and getting more chores.

"So, boy, your Aunt and I have decided to get you a big boy's bed, like Dudley's." He waited for a response as his nephew went from staring at the threads of the throw blanket to looking up at him with something akin to shock. "Well?" he bristled uncomfortably.

Harry couldn't quite believe it, and he expected a catch. Sleeping in a big plush bed had become an addictive luxury for him and he had been dreading having to give it up, savoring the feel of comfort and warmth. The idea of having his _own_ bed, something actually _nice_ in his cupboard, was stunning. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Why would I tell you otherwise?" Vernon shook his head, not waiting for an answer. "You'll have to move back upstairs, of course. It's about time you have a proper room again in any case. I trust you'll behave with maturity," he said with a sidelong glance, "and try to be careful with yourself and the things around you. I don't want anything getting broken, understand?"

He thought about this a moment, hoping that he _didn't_ understand. "No," he said at last.

"What?" His uncle asked with surprise.

"I don't want to move upstairs. I want to stay in my cupboard." He gripped the blankets tightly in his fists, lowering his eyes to help quell the sting of his tears. He hated Dursley tricks, they undid him every time.

"Boy, what on earth are you...? Of course you can't stay in the cupboard!" He sniped in agitation. "Why would you _want_ to?"

"Because," Harry said quietly, "I'd just end up back there anyway."

There was a long silence between them, as Harry hoped that he would not have to repeat himself and Vernon sat stunned stupid.

"Do you_ intend _to cause trouble, then?"

Harry looked up with a mild glare. "No! I _never_ mean to, though, and I always _do!"_

Vernon gave an exasperated huff and brought a hand up to rub at his temple. "Well then, there's no point in you staying in the cupboard anymore, is there?"

"What?"

"You haven't learned anything from it, have you?"

Harry bit his lip to keep from retorting that he had learned plenty; explaining about shadows and the fluttery feeling that he could sometimes call to dance over his skin was as sure to get him in trouble as talking about monster friends would be.

"So then, your aunt and I will just have to find a new way of keeping you behaved," he continued as though to himself. Meeting his nephew's eyes, he asked, "How does scrubbing the bathroom with a toothbrush sound?"

Harry recoiled with a moue of disgust. _"Horrible!"_

Vernon's lips quirked in amusement. "Then you should do your best to be good, because _that's_ what your punishment will be the next time you misbehave."

Comparing cleaning the bathroom to spending time in the shadows, Harry was almost ready to object. Then he remembered that moving upstairs meant getting a real bed for himself, while staying in his cupboard meant either going back to his cot or possibly, since he was too old for that, sleeping on the floor. _I'd get a window, too. That has to be worth a lot more than the grossness of one little chore._ "Okay," he consented, wanting to agree to getting a room with a view before his uncle changed his mind.

"Good boy," Vernon said with a nod, and reached out and gave Harry's bird's nest a light pat.

Harry smiled at the evidence that his uncle was at least as good as before. _I wouldn't want to have to trade one rotten Dursley for another._ "Thank you, Uncle Vernon," he added with real gratitude as the idea of having his own bed and room began truly taking root in his mind. _Never having to go back to the cupboard again. He didn't promise that, but that's what it sounds like._

"Now, I should let your aunt know that you're awake. You've got dinner waiting to be heated in the kitchen." He got up from the chair, folding the newspaper and setting it down in the seat. "You are hungry, aren't you?"

"Yes." _Aren't I always, lately? Sleep and eat and sleep and eat and - why am I complaining?_

"Right then, dinner will be up in a few minutes. Perhaps tomorrow night, you'd like to come downstairs and eat with the family?"

Harry nodded. "That sounds good." His uncle left and he lay back against his pillows, staring at the closed door in bewilderment. "It _all_ sounds good," he said to himself in a confused tone.


	11. Bug vs Lizard

**Isabelle Eir,** Geesh, the first words of your review scared me - I've rather looked forward to reviews from 'Anonymous.' X) I don't think that Harry at five really does understand hate on a personal level, except perhaps what he may imagine his Aunt feels/felt for him. A good deal of children do use the word emphatically, often to people they love, typically only meaning as much as 'I'm mad at you!' or 'That rule sucks!' I would place Harry's understanding somewhere between a small child knowing it as a strongly negative word and a young adult's bitter vitriol which they may mistake for the passion of hate. On the toys line, the way I thought of it was that Petunia would have been bitter that the toys she'd bought for Dudley had wound up in her nephew's hands; she took them away with a reasonable explanation and Vernon would have agreed with the logic, unwitting to the motive. **jabarber69,** thank you, I'm quite glad you like it. He's going to have to learn a lot about sneaking over the years, surely. **RRW,** thank you. Petunia can't hold out forever - she just has to be chipped at one chunk of ice at a time. **Magic Crystal Rose,** I'm continuing, I'm continuing! :) I'm glad you're enjoying it so far. I admit that my updates have slowed down, but it's due to offline things rather than a lack of interest in the story. **Bobboky,** thanks. **Jaid Ziaen,** thank you for reviewing, especially in consideration of life being hellish crazy. Dudley was definitely just making an idle threat - after the bruises he left on Harry earlier he's going to be rather wary of doing things which might hurt him for awhile, with the idea that he's a lot more breakable now. Pet's going to lose her habits, by hook or by crook - but fortunately _not_ by crushing. **SinisterMeds,** thank you, I will most certainly keep working on this. **fraewyn,** Yay indeed! :)

Chapter 11: Bug vs. Lizard

Harry started the next day being roused by his Aunt Tuna with a high stack of waffles and a bowl of sliced melon. She was snippy and brusk as she pushed him about and got him groomed for the day, but that she was even bothering with him was still enough of a surprise that he couldn't mind it. After half an hour of complaints about everything from Harry's complexion to his coordination, she escorted him to the backyard dressed in reasonably clean and whole clothes with a soft lime green blanket draped over his shoulders. It was summer and he _shouldn't_ have been chilled, even as early in the day as it was, but he still found himself shrugging deeper into the blanket as he stood and watched his aunt fuss with a lawn recliner.

"Some sun will do you good. A nice dose of Vitamin D," she said with a nod to herself. She turned to him with a disgruntled expression and he took it as his notice that he was being uncooperative again. He came forward at a slow stumble and climbed into the outdoor lounger, gathering the blanket around himself and looking up to check his aunt's expression. She was frowning, but it was the sort of look which said she wasn't looking at _him_ at all. A familiar Dursley mystery, one which didn't interest him in the slightest.

"Thank you, Aunt Tuna," he said quietly, feeling a need to say it even more because he really was grateful to be outside. The last time he could recall getting fresh air was on the way to the car at the restaurant and before that, he thought it had been at least a week. His aunt didn't always feel he could be left alone outdoors, and she wouldn't always be willing to take the time to watch him. _I guess I don't look like I'm about to uproot her roses today._

She narrowed her eyes, her frown softening as it became focused upon him once more. "Behave yourself. I'll be right in the kitchen, watching the yard through the windows. Don't even _think_ of causing trouble; you're out here to _rest."_

"Yes, Aunt Tuna."

"Good."

Harry held still, biting his lip at the effort, as a hand came out unexpectedly and patted at his hair before she walked away. It had happened enough times now that he thought it was going to be something he'd have to get used to. She went back into the house and he took in a deep breath of fresh air, savoring in anticipation of the days when he would long for it. _There's going to be at least one good thing about going to school; I'll get to go outside at least twice a day. Unless the Dursleys make me live at the school. Can they do that?_ He shook his head at himself; he wouldn't know what to think of living at the school until he'd spent some time there.

Raising his eyes to the branches of the trees which lined the back of the yard, he avidly searched for any of his usual riddlers. He could hear the odd warble hidden behind the leaves and there were a few sparrows hopping about on the roof of the garden shed. He looked closely at them for a moment, trying to read beneath their calls and movements, before he leaned back in mild disappointment. None of them were his, and it was an awful bother to start things over with birds, as they were rather untrusting.

He lay back and closed his eyes, blocking out everything but the noises around him as he listened to the birds. The added noise of his neighbors was slightly distracting but he thought he was managing well, considering. He imagined they were saying something about where to find the best bugs and worms to eat on the street, and debating whether they should stay and continue their pecking hunt in the Dursleys' backyard or go over to Mister Johnson's. The sun hung over the roof of Number Four, leaving him warmed but unbothered by the light.

"When did you get a birthday?"

Harry jolted at the loud demand which had been voiced not so much as a foot from his ear. He blinked at his cousin in a bit of a stupor, not understanding what he'd just been asked. "What?"

Dudley sighed in impatience. "When did you get a birthday?" he asked in a slightly angry tone.

_That's a dumb question if there ever was one._ "I didn't. I don't." He shook his head at both of those responses, striving for clarity. "You know I don't have one, Dudley." He glared down at his own knees, trying not to snap at his cousin. Dudley knew very well that Harry didn't have a birthday, as he rubbed that fact in every time his own birthday came up. Dudley would be surrounded by his new toys, face smeared with cake, eyes peering out to find Harry and alight on him with a superior glint.

"I _thought_ you didn't." He was frowning at him now, looking as though he were trying to work out whether Harry was lying to him or not. He paused in his scrutiny to look him over then. "You're not still tired, are you? I wasn't supposed to wake you up."

Harry squinted in confusion at the strange swing from taunting to concern. "No. I wasn't sleeping, Dudley."

He snorted. "Yeah, you were. Took you long enough to wake up, too. I must have called you a jillion times."

Looking about himself, he noticed that the position of the sun had changed. The backyard was much brighter than it should have been, and he bit his lip. "How _long_ was I sleeping, then?"

"I dunno. Couple hours." Dudley's voice sounded bored but he was still looking at him funny.

_A lot can happen in a couple hours. Should I bother asking what he's going on about?_

"So, you really don't know about the birthday thing?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in irritation. _I guess I don't get a choice._ "I don't _have_ a birthday. I never have. If you're going to break your promise and start being mean again-"

"Shut up, Harry. I'm not being mean. You're such an idiot."

_Oh yeah, that's being real nice, isn't it?_ He bit his tongue, determined to hold onto the peace his parents had afforded him for as long as possible.

Dudley's face scrunched up in thought for a moment and then he gave his cousin a mild glare. "Never mind. I should have known you wouldn't have a clue; you never do."

"Hey!" Harry squawked in indignation.

He rolled his eyes. "Just go back to sleep, Harry." He shook his head and turned around, waddling back into the house.

Harry pouted, leaning back against the lawn recliner and eyeing the closed back door to the kitchen. He didn't know what this new Dursley, or rather, _Dudley_ trick was all about, but he was sure it was something to keep an eye on.

* * *

Dudley came into the kitchen to find his mother making sandwiches at the counter. She looked up when he came in and glanced him over curiously.

"Duddy, love, is something wrong?"

"Harry was sleeping," he half-lied, "I didn't want to wake him up."

Her eyes softened and she looked at him with pride. "My little darling, so considerate. Why don't you go watch some television, dear? Mummy will bring in a snack for you in a moment."

He assessed the sandwich pile which was steadily growing and idly wondered just how much of it his share was. "Crisps too, right Mummy?"

"Of course Duddy Dumpkin, if that's what you'd like."

"It is." He frowned for a moment, and then sat down at the kitchen table in what was usually his mother's place, so that he could see her while they spoke without twisting around every time she moved.

Her eyebrows raised in surprise, as Dudley was not one to sit about ignoring the business of children - to play and watch television. "Duddy, what is it? Are you feeling faint?" She frowned in worry.

"No," he said in confusion, "I'm fine." He shook his head in irritation and then raised his chin up in an unconscious show of defiance. "Last night, you and Daddy said that Harry has a birthday." His eyes narrowed accusatorily as he continued, "Except he doesn't." He gave his best little boy glare and waited for her to explain herself.

Petunia looked a bit shocked at first, before regaining her composure. "Where did you hear that, love? Did Harry tell you he has a birthday?"

"No, you were just talking really loud in the kitchen and I heard. So it's not true?" He felt rather angry at the thought that he'd been made a liar against his will, especially when he was making an effort to be nice to his cousin.

"Well, I - yes, of course he has a birthday," she said in a frazzled tone. Patting her hair as her eyes cast about the kitchen anxiously, she gave a quiet huff after a moment and came to sit at the table beside her son. She held his eyes, determined to handle the situation maturely. "Everyone has a birthday, love. They wouldn't be here if they hadn't been born." She smiled indulgently and smoothed a bit of hair behind his ear, but he was still looking offended.

"You mean he's _always_ had one? They're supposed to come every year! I've had way more birthdays than him!"

"Yes, well, sweetheart, Mummy and Daddy never knew when his birthday was before," she explained with a small smile. "We knew he was a bit younger than you," she said with a light pinch to his cheek, "but beyond that, we could only guess. It was just a little while ago that Mummy found his birth certificate."

"Birth certifcate?"

"Yes, darling. A piece of paper from the day you were born, which says what the date was. Everyone has one. Everyone civilized, at least," she added in a strangely bitter tone.

"I've got one?" he asked in interest.

"Yes. Mummy keeps yours in a special place, so that it's safe."

"And so you won't ever forget my birthday," he said instructionally.

"Oh," she laughed lightly, "I could never forget your birthday, Duddy dearest." She smiled at him wistfully, remembering when he had still been small enough for her to pick up.

"And you won't lose Harry's again either, right?"

The corners of her smile tugged down slightly. "No, Diddydums, Mummy won't forget his birthday again."

He bit his lip and stared at the wood grain of the table as he thought it all over. "So, there'll be cake?" Any occasion for cake was worthy of note to Dudley.

"Yes," she said, "I suppose there will be."

He looked up at her. "And ice cream?"

"You can have ice cream anytime, love. There's some in the freezer right now. Would you like a bowl after you have your lunch?"

"Sure, but you know there's always extra ice cream on birthdays. So, there'll be lots of it on Harry's, right?" He looked at her speculatively, both curious as to how his ragamuffin cousin's celebration would compare to his own and also eager to know just how much he could get out of it.

Petunia gave an exasperated sigh. "Yes, there may as well be."

"Can it be Rocky Road?"

She gave a tight smile. "I don't see why not."

"Good," he said with a nod, satisfied to find that he could pick out what he most wanted even when it was for someone else. Second in importance to whether there would be cake and ice cream, he also wanted to know, "So Harry's moving back upstairs?"

Her face twitched in and out of a grimace almost too quickly to note. "You heard that as well, Duddydoo?"

"The television was off."

"Oh," she breathed in surprise, "well." She stared, gob smacked for a moment at the idea of her Duddy ignoring the television. But then, it was also rather unusual for him to want to play with his cousin or talk to his mother. "Hum, yes, darling, Daddy and I think that six is much too old for Harry to be staying in his little room under the stairs. He needs to have more room to grow."

"Oh...I guess I wouldn't want him to stay that tiny forever." He nodded to himself. "Yeah, it would be funny but since I keep growing, I'd probably step on him by accident one day and crush him."

Smiling more genuinely, Petunia reached out and patted her son's hand. "I knew you'd be a big boy about it, dear."

"Plus there'll be more room to play, since my room's full of stuff and Harry doesn't have anything," he added in a practical tone.

Her expression went a bit queasy at her child's wording. She tried to regain her composure, floundering in her mind for a platitude to apply to that situation which would not be an outright lie. Eventually she gave up on putting a bright face on her nephew's lot, and simply patted the back of Dudley's hand again, giving him a smile which came out more as a grimace. "I'm very proud of you for sharing your things with your cousin." Then she frowned as she thought that over. "Mind he doesn't break or stain them."

Dudley wrinkled his nose. "He won't. He doesn't even like to knock them together when they're fighting."

"Good. They're not his and he _should_ be treating them with respect."

"Mummy, when they're at war, you're _supposed_ to smack them together." He rolled his eyes at her ignorance.

She frowned, disliking the idea of Dudley accidentally chipping the paint off from any of his nice little dolls, but not wanting to tell him how to play with his things. "Yes, well. Those dolls were expensive," she offered in a neutral tone.

His eyes widened in horror. "Soldiers! They're soldiers, Mummy, not _dolls!_ Ugh!" Crumpling his face up in disgust, he gagged and shivered theatrically. _"Girls," _he spat in revulsion, "play with dolls. _Not_ boys! They're _knights,_ not _Barbies!"_

"Sorry love, of course they're not dolls. But they are very nice knights, aren't they?"

Dudley reluctantly nodded in agreement. He was still deeply insulted, but there was no denying that his toys were better than everyone else's.

Sighing at the half-win, Petunia stood up from the table to return to the counter. "I'll bring your lunch into the living room in a few minutes, Duddy."

He pouted at her ending of their talk but got up anyway. "Sure." Stopping at the doorway, he turned and looked back to her. "Is Harry getting any presents?" Since Dudley had been sharing his toys with Harry, it only made sense to him that Harry would share whatever he had as well. There was always room for more aliens in an army.

She gave him a strange look. "Mummy told you love, he's moving upstairs."

"Oh," he said in a tone of disappointment.

She frowned slightly, confused by his reaction. Covering her bases so that she wouldn't have two sulking children in the house, she asked, "Duddy darling, would you do Mummy a favor?"

He gave her a look which said he'd rather not. "What is it?" he asked reluctantly.

"Don't tell Harry about all of this. I wouldn't want him to get his hopes up, thinking he's going to have a mountain of gifts or," she waved her hand at some imaginary bother, which stood at about three and a half feet, "a pony or whatever it is a boy like him would want." She sent a mildly sour look out the windows to the backyard, where her imagined bother was sitting quietly.

"I guess," he said unsurely. "I won't tell him, Mummy." _Not again, at least._ "So it'll be like a surprise, right?"

She shook her head and made an effort to keep the venom out of her voice, pitching it light and sweet. "Daddy already told him he'll be getting a new room, but the cake will be a surprise, yes." Vernon's subversive attempt to give the room to the boy _without_ reason hadn't gone over well with her. They were not going to begin spoiling the little monster, lest he actually sprout horns.

"Okay," he agreed with an absent nod, and then he moseyed into the living room, mind wandering.

* * *

Harry stretched lazily, feeling both content and bored. Sitting still while outside was a horrible challenge, though still much better than being made to stay in bed inside. At least he had a better chance of hearing and understanding the birds, as well as seeing them up close. He was starting to feel that some of their language was silent, reminding him of a distant dream. The bobs of their head, their hops and twitchings, were all more than nervous energy or teases to come fly, though he was at least still sure that the idle fluttering or ruffling of their wings while they were on the ground only showed an impatience to take flight. Between studying the feathered mystery crooners and spotting the odd squirrel in the trees, he was almost content to simply sit and observe.

His attention turned from the roof of the garden shed to ground-level, searching for an amusement that would further quell his restlessness. He noticed that on the other side of the yard, in the shrubbery and ill-tended flowers against the privacy fence, things had gotten a bit more wild than usual. _Aunt Tuna must not have been pulling weeds for awhile._ Things were overgrown to the point of obscuring much of the ground and the more he wondered over possibilities of what he might not be able to see, the more strongly he felt that neglecting an opportunity to investigate was simply unthinkable; he had learned from his random banishments to the cupboard that another chance may not come.

He looked over his shoulder to the kitchen windows and saw his aunt walking by one, carrying something to the sink. _She's not exactly paying attention._ Darting his eyes over to the weeds and back, he shrugged down low in the recliner. After a moment's thought, he gathered the blanket up high over his head and began shifting it against the recliner's arms and back so that it would stay up in an arch without him there. He carefully slid off the side and then slinked over to the fence on the other side of the yard, ducking down low and sitting in front of the high grass and smothered flowers. A quick check of the kitchen windows, further off now, showed no sign of his aunt.

Feeling that he was in the clear for the moment, he turned back to the greenery before him and leaned forward, running his eyes over it for the most likely place something would conceal itself in. He parted the weeds, ran his hands over the ground and even reached out to lift the low branches of some of the shrubs. Biting his lip, he fought his disappointment and crawled further in, so that he'd have a better view of things beneath the bushes. It wasn't until he was on his stomach with his head under a branch that he found his prize. He reared back, smacking his head against a branch. Two feet down, near the edge of the shrubs, _A toad!_ It hopped towards the weeds and he scrambled back to pursue it.

_"What_ are you doing?" A prim voice shrilly demanded from behind him.

Harry startled and wound up falling backwards to sit on the grass with a thump. He looked over his shoulder and glared balefully when he saw who spoke. "Hah hah," he said dryly.

Dudley grinned. "I think so." Then he frowned slightly. "Really though, what are you doing? You're supposed to be sitting still, aren't you? Mummy said."

Harry gave his own little frown, unsure of whether his strange peace with Dudley went so far that his cousin wouldn't tattle. "I was just bored, and I thought that there was something in the bushes. That there might have been, I mean."

Dudley gave him a funny look. "Like what?"

His expression narrowed in thought. His Aunt and Uncle had never understood it when he'd tried to explain that he was only ever looking for answers and not trouble. He hadn't ever tried to talk to Dudley about it, but he'd also never considered that his cousin would understand. Truthfully, he wasn't sure if he wanted to share so much as the importance of learning how birds grew wings or trees stood through storms, let alone the added task of trying to find monsters, since he didn't have any idea how long this nice Dudley would last. For all he knew, Dudley could be trying to get him to tell all he knew just so that he could repeat it back to his parents and Harry would get put back in the cupboard again.

"Well?"

Harry shook his head and looked up with an innocent expression, hoping that his cousin who lied all of the time would not recognize dishonesty in someone else. "I thought that a toy might have gotten lost in the bushes. Like a football."

Dudley gave a sour glare. "_My_ football is in the shed. _You_ shouldn't even be running. _Or_ crawling around in the bushes." He gave the stern look which he had learned from his father and crossed his arms, as his mother would.

Harry just shrugged and began idly plucking at blades of grass. Most questions tended to go away if you ignored the asker long enough; that was a trick he'd learned from many a plant.

With a roll of his eyes, Dudley stalked off. Harry frowned, wondering how much trouble his cousin might get him in if he were actually mad. Biting his lip, he scolded himself for not knowing better and then got back up onto his hands and knees, carefully creeping forward in the direction that the toad had gone. He remembered toads, from previous summers; they were delicate, soft and cold, and if he were about to be sent back to the cupboard, then he wanted to be able to hold one first.

He found it at the edge of the bushes, near the fence. He admired the patterns in its skin as he crept towards it. When the ink black eyes spotted him, he smiled at their familiarity, able to read them easily. "Relax," he said quietly, afraid of being overheard, "I won't hurt you. Honest. I just want to pet you and then I'll let you go." He reached forward to pick it up and the toad leapt further away. Scuttling after it, Harry was not to be deterred. He kneeled over it and caught it in both hands. "Got ya!"

"Got who?" Dudley asked, standing over Harry's shoulder with the blanket he had gone to retrieve draped over his arms.

"Um," Harry muttered guiltily, feeling caught, "a toad." He held up his clasped hands as he said it, not wanting to part his fingers enough so that the toad could actually get away. It was as soft as he remembered and slightly damp, and he felt a bit tickled as it carefully explored his cupped palms for a way out, tiny feet pressing against his skin.

Dudley gave him a look which questioned his sanity - an expression Harry was quite used to seeing. "You're on your knees in the grass because you want to chase bugs?"

"Toads aren't bugs," Harry corrected, "they're lizards."

He narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "Lizards have tails, dummy."

Harry tried to glare back, but it was rather hard to do when he was so happy from holding the soft form of another living mystery in his own hands. "Yeah, well, bugs are littler."

"Not if they're from outerspace," Dudley countered.

"We don't _live_ in outspace," Harry patiently pointed out.

Dudley just shook his head, giving up the argument as something which Harry was either too young or too stupid to understand properly. "Whatever," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Harry pouted a bit petulantly. "You won't tell?"

"That you're an idiot?" _'Why bother, since everyone already knows?'_ he didn't add, since he was trying to be nice.

"That I'm playing with the toad," _'you moron,'_ Harry didn't add. "Since I was supposed to stay still."

Dudley frowned. "No, I won't tell," he agreed. Since his mother wanted him to keep something from Harry, it was only fair to keep something about him from her in return. "Besides, I think you're more just supposed to stay warm and rest." He shook his head and then shook out the blanket before himself.

Harry was about to agree with that, before the lime green fabric of the blanket flashed up in front of his face, causing him to jolt back with a cry of surprise, and then the blanket came down on top of him, covering him head to toe like a tent. He blinked a few times, carefully checking that the toad he'd caught was alright in his hands and hadn't gotten pinched at all when he fell. A surge of relief quelled his annoyance as he found the toad to be just fine. He frowned as he tried to see a way out of the blanket tent without opening his hands or risking crushing the toad.

"Just _keep_ covered this time, alright?"

He absently stroked his thumb over the toad's skin as he thought over the Dudley complication in things.


	12. Reflections and Projections

**Wonderbee31,** Duddy may take quite awhile to understand that Harry's taking a share of the attention he's used to getting. **RRW,** thank you. Dudley is certainly a card of his own. **Isabelle Eir,** 'Just what sort of creature does that horse think her sister's child is?' Whatever sort of creature she felt Lily was in the end, only perhaps doubly so because of James' influence. Petunia is very invested in Dudley and considers more heavily what his perception of her is, as evidenced by her overly honeyed cooing. I love looking into Harry's world, it's quite a relief from Petunia's. Dudley's level of involvement is balanced between how much he demands and how well Harry can learn to trust him. I hope you enjoy the next bit. **Bobboky,** thanks. **Jensindenial3516,** thank you and you're welcome. **cyiusblack,** I'll update sooner next time. **Rabid Reader 4,** I'm glad to have surprised you. With Petunia's mind, I doubt she'd think of ghosts if she saw Harry with the blanket over his head. **Jaid Ziaen,** Harry and Dudley are bound to have lots of OO moments. I think they're already learning to get along. Dudley's always going to have his own interests and attitudes, but it's a possibility he'll share some of Harry's. I hope you still remember this story. XD I know it's been awhile. **Gertrud-Eveline,** I'll take strange as a compliment. Five year old logic is exactly what I was aiming for. Except for the six year old logic of Dudley and Petunia, of course. ;) **AchillesMonkey,** thank you, I'm glad you like it. **Froulein Weisenheimer,** thank you. I wouldn't dream of skipping through Pre-Hogwarts here. Aside from missing out on the fun, so much is going to happen that it would be a complete mess to give a condensed version of it all. **maleficus-lupin,** there are probably parodies that feel more normal than this fic. **Caldonya,** thank you, so much. :) **Winoniel,** thank you. I'm not sure if even a magic wand could cause instant harmony and domestic bliss between all the members of Number 4. I'm hoping that I've kept up the fantastic work, but I never quite know. **StaplersBreak,** thank you, I do try. I've never met an unintelligent six year old, but perhaps they are a bit too eloquent here. In most places their thought patterns are meant to be more sophisticated than what they would actually be able to verbalize and I'd thought they're actual dialogue was age appropriate. Discussions between Harry and Dudley go more smoothly since children are much more comfortable speaking with each other than with adults. **writer-of-deathandlife,** thanks. **Moon Ecstasy, **I always thought that voice sounded like Annie doing an Elmo impression. I can hear it in my head just thinking about it and it does oddly suit this Harry. I was trying to see magic from Petunia's point of view...I'm not sure if there's a way that couldn't be odd. **Ranger Dragen,** _thank you._ You're actually the first person to review chapter one. And then five and eight and eleven... It was like, 'Hey, remember your story? No, really, remember your story? Hey! Story! Nudge, nudge, nudge,' and I ended up working on this chapter until I could call it something like finished. A light and dark Harry is quite likely just what the Dursleys will deliver. Harry will learn about magic soon. I don't want to give anything else away on that.

Author's Note: I have no idea if this is ready to be posted or not but it's still about time I get on with things. I'm dissatisfied with the chapter but everytime I try to fix it I end up _adding_ to it and it's already quite a snowball.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Reflections and Projections

December 17, 1979

"You look like such a healthy blossom, darling. My stern little Petunia, all lit from within."

Petunia blushed and smiled at her mother's complement. In spite of what nonsense it was, she couldn't argue when people told her she was glowing. She _felt_ rather radiant, although that could partly be attributed to pride. Since first hearing that she was pregnant, she had been carrying herself with her chin held higher. "I suppose it's a good consolation for having to wait so long." _Nine months - well, six to go._

Rose chuckled. "Longer than you know." She shook her head ruefully, clearly remembering problems with one daughter or the other.

_Lily,_ Petunia thought, _if either of us were trouble it was probably her. It's always her._ "But worth it," she added to her mother's statement. Any price would be worth it. She and Vernon were finally going to have a child to love, after years of trying. It was going to be a darling little girl, she could feel it.

_Feel_ it. She hummed a quiet laugh into her tea at the thought. She was starting to sound like her empty-headed sister, even in her own mind. Lily was always going on about sensing things which were imaginary, hearing the silent and seeing the invisible. It seemed her baby sister would never grow-up, so long as she had other people to play pretend with - people like that ridiculous Potter man she married, and his lunatic friends. Petunia had always thought that Lily would eventually settle down and learn to be more like her, but instead she found herself nearly giving over to her crazy sister's point of view, often resting her hand over her stomach and trying to find a better way of describing the creation of life than 'magical,' feeling hardly satisfied when all she could come up with was 'miraculous.'

"Oh, yes," Rose said with her eyes twinkling, "it's worth everything, to finally have your baby at the end."

_Such pride. Lily's on her mind, of course. It's always Lily._ She'd hardly finished the thought when she heard a crash outside the house, around the tool shed where her sister would sometimes 'pop' in. She frowned to herself, hoping that the poor little ditz hadn't tripped and gotten hurt on something. It was bad enough that she insisted on using...her _people's_ way of getting around, but Petunia would absolutely put her foot down if she began injuring herself with it. Not that drawing a line had ever done anything but encourage her sister to cross it...

The side door to the kitchen was thrown open so quickly that it bounced off the wall. If only Lily hadn't darted inside so quickly, she might have broken her own nose with it.

"Mum! Mummy, oh," she gasped as she tried to catch her breath, a huge grin stretched over her face, "I have," she panted, "the - Tuney!" Her eyes went wide and somehow her smile got a bit brighter when she noticed her sister sitting down at the table across from their mother. She squealed in excitement, Petunia's only warning before her shoulders were being hugged and Lily's sweetly scented red hair was smothering her face. "Oh, Tuney, it's so wonderful!"

Petunia blinked and suppressed the suspense her sister was building. She patted at Lily's shoulders in a tolerant fashion and wondered at what had gotten her excited this time. Then she flinched and grimaced as she remembered the last time. "Don't tell me you're getting married again." Her people didn't do that, did they? They couldn't be that...uncivil. If her little sister thought she was going to be bandying about with two husbands...well then, Petunia could always just abduct her out of the country.

Not that kidnapping Lily had ever been very effective before.

Lily pulled back and stared at her in shock for a moment, then gave out a melodic laugh that was half amused, half nervous. "No! No, Tuney, of course not! Goodness. James isn't _that_ wild."

"I should bloody well hope not," their mother said crossly. She was caught between glaring at Petunia for saying something so untoward and looking to her younger daughter in bewildered expectation. Like Petunia, Rose was accustomed to Lily's bright enthusiasm. Unlike Petunia, Rose trusted Lily's judgment on things and received bombs such as 'I'm a witch' with grace and acceptance. So if her sweet Lily said, 'James and I are joining a circus,' then she would give congratulations, buy tickets and be only slightly surprised.

Petunia was pulled from her bitterness at her mother's glaring by her sister taking her hand. She looked up and was startled to see that Lily's eyes were shining with tears. "I thought this was a happy announcement," she said in confusion.

"Oh, it is. It is. It's just...Tuney," she said with a squeeze of her sister's hand, "we're going to be mothers _together."_

The first thing Petunia thought was that there was something wrong with her hearing. She could have sworn Lily had just said _they_ were going to be mothers. Of course Lily would be a loving _aunt,_ but really...

A shriek came from across the table, Rose imitating her younger daughter's tendency to squeal when overexcited.

_Oh, mother must have misheard as well. Good lord, she probably thinks Lily's pregnant._ She shook her head to clear it.

"Oh, you mean - oh this is wonderful!" Rose got up and hugged her daughter, her favorite daughter.

Petunia shook her head again, refusing to be distracted by the idea of how happy their mother would be if sweet, beautiful _Lily_ were going to have a child. There was no point in thinking on it, since Lily wasn't pregnant. The idea was absurd. She was only nineteen, not even married a year and there was her condition -

"Yes! You're going to be a double grandma!" Lily giggled in a silly way, sounding twelve again.

_Of course she isn't pregnant._ "You and James are going to adopt?" It was the only interpretation which made sense to her. She supposed _those people_ had orphans lying about as well.

Lily dimmed slightly, looking a bit baffled. "What? No! No, Tuney, I'm _pregnant!"_

Rose squealed again and Lily's grin returned in response.

Petunia could feel the frown of disapproval on her face but she held little control over it. Her whole body felt slack with shock. "Pregnant?"

"Yes," Lily said, smile fading as she calmed down and saw that her big sister wasn't as excited about the idea as she was.

"I - wha-" Petunia stopped herself and started again, "With James?" _Or with a normal man? Say you've found a normal man!_

"Yes," she said with a quizzical look, "yes, of course with James." She laughed nervously and looked to their mother.

_Yes,_ Petunia thought in shock, _yes of course with James. The two of you can spread your sickness even more powerfully as a couple. Breeding like mindless animals._

Rose shook her head as though Petunia was a ludicrous joke which she was exasperated at hearing. "I don't know what's gotten into her. Besides the baby, of course." She turned to her eldest and gave a wink. "He's driving you mad already."

The anger began to sink in then. Her child was already the least favorite grandbaby, and neither of them had even been born yet. "_She_ is going to be a perfectly sweet, _well-behaved_ little girl." She darted a heated look to Lily, who was once the least-behaved little girl imaginable.

"Of course she will be," Lily said quickly, cutting over whatever argument her mother and sister were about to get into. "She'll have _you_ for a mum, Tuney. She'll be sweet as honey." Her face softened as she thought of what the next few years might be like, a child of her own with James' playful eyes and a niece with her sister's delicate little pouts, growing up side by side. She sighed wistfully. "Oh, I bet they'll be the best of friends." She sat down at the table with a dreamy expression.

Biting the corners of her lips, Petunia tried to hold onto the fact that Lily apparently wasn't stealing her thunder intentionally. She told herself that it was petty to resent her for not waiting until after Petunia's first child was born before starting her own family. Besides, jealousy wasn't quite the point. The point was what she was carefully holding her tongue against. _They shouldn't be breeding at all!_

"How _is_ our little Dhalia?" Lily asked with bright interest.

_'Human!'_ Petunia didn't snap. _'One hundred percent human!'_

"Tuney?"

She raised her eyes in spite of everything she knew they must show. "I've asked you not to call me that," she pointed out calmly. _The baby,_ she thought to herself, _don't upset the baby. Mustn't push my nerves._ Petunia looked from Lily's small unrepentant smile to her stomach, where some unnatural little parasite was growing. She frowned in consternation, sure that no good could come from this. Lily hadn't been married very long but now she would _never_ see sense and leave Potter, the filthy scoundrel, not with a child between them.

Worse still, she couldn't help a stirring of pity for the innocent life her selfish sister and her disgraceful husband were spreading their disease to. She bit back her question of whether Lily was really sure she should have the baby...that was at least a conversation they shouldn't have in front of their mother, and Petunia was sure she knew what the answer would be in any case. Lily wouldn't understand her argument that magic was a corruptive illness, as she was far too corrupted herself. No, Lily would only argue that magic was 'the most natural thing in the world,' the poor fool. As though flying tea cups and talking mirrors held any place in the natural world.

* * *

July 27, 1986

Vernon folded the cot from the cupboard and carried it to the basement door. With furniture for Harry's room arriving soon, there wasn't any reason to keep it close at hand. He'd be glad to have it out from the house proper, hanging in his thoughts like an albatross around his neck. If nothing else, Petunia would have to admit that having their hall storage cupboard back would be a relief; the mountains of clutter in the basement were rather hazardous to have to sift through on holidays.

He got the door unlocked, opening it and flicking the light switch in the stairwell, and then carefully walked the cot down the steps. Leaning it up against the stair railing once he got to the bottom, he looked about for a place to hide it away. They might need it sometime, but he couldn't think of when, which was much the same story for the rest of what they were storing under the house. From Dudley's baby furniture to Vernon's favorite couch, which Petunia couldn't stand to see, it was overflowing with keepsakes which did nothing but waste space and 'useless junk' the Dursleys couldn't part with.

Someday he'd clear it all out and make proper use of the space, he told himself as he decided to wedge the cot against the wall behind the couch. As he carried the latest addition to the junk pile to its new resting place, he thought of what else was down there, muddling his plans. There were a few things kept out of sight which he _couldn't_ dispose of or move upstairs. He sighed as he thought of the bother his in-laws were, even years after they had died. Who on earth gave gifts that couldn't be thrown out? Completely inconsiderate, it was.

There was a wreath somewhere, in the south-west corner under piles of boxes, he thought. It had been a wedding present from Lily, back when she was still an Evans girl. They might have kept it upstairs if she hadn't been honest enough to admit it was a...her-worldy-thing. Petunia had grimaced, politely accepted it, and then found to her horror that it could not be gotten rid of, no matter what they tried. Setting it in the fireplace had caused quite a show of sparks; after that episode, he and his Pet both resolved to simply hide things away, rather than put themselves through the trouble of trying and failing to get rid of them.

Ribbons with an unnatural sparkle, cards, gifts and photos were all secreted away beneath rubbish and clutter, either too odd or too valued to simply be tossed out. It had once all been kept in the cupboard under the stairs, but then with Dudley snooping for presents and Harry investigating everything from teaspoons to carpet staples, both Vernon and Petunia had felt the things needed better hiding than that. He ignored the little voice which questioned whether his Pet had simply wanted to clear the space for Harry's use; even if he'd _known_ so at the time, he wouldn't have been surprised.

He could still clearly remember adding an overstuffed blue dragon which the Potters had sent for Dudley's first birthday; it was normal-looking enough but Petunia had insisted, incensed at the idea of her sister trying to corrupt their child with unnatural thoughts. Personally, Vernon didn't think their son would have really noticed what sort of stuffed toy he'd chewed on and squeezed, but it was Petunia's peace of mind that really mattered. He'd put it away in the cupboard without Dudley ever laying eyes on it, and locked the door with an exasperated sigh, feeling that was as far as his business with the cupboard of dirty secrets went, at least until the next Christmas, when his in-laws would bombard them with God only knew what sort of aberrations of nature. He couldn't have imagined the next thing sent would be their son.

The Potters hadn't really been _bad_ folks; whatever else they were, they were always well-meaning. Horrible ideas in their heads and a terribly childish life-style, but they might have grown out of it if they'd lived long enough. Occasionally, wild youths did turn into respectable adults. From the way Petunia had carried on when she'd found out her sister was pregnant, he couldn't think of them as much more than kids in any case. Certainly, he would always remember Lily Potter as Lily Evans, Petunia's playful but easily vexed little sister.

Potter _had_ drunk a bit too much. At least, he'd drunk too much at holidays and weddings, which were the only occasions on which Vernon had met the man. The friends he kept were a sight worse though, judging from Petunia's horror stories and his own few confrontations. He couldn't say he'd really known any of them but what he had known, he didn't much like. Wild ones, the lot of them, and certainly not the sorts he'd want to leave his wife alone with - or his sister-in-law, come to think of it. Lily often seemed such a sweet delicate thing, if a bit fiery; he was sure she had simply fallen in with a bad lot.

It couldn't have helped that they'd all been recruited into a cult at the age of twelve.

"None of that for my boy," he told himself quietly, and nodded at the cluttered basement in affirmation.

Petunia was taking Harry and Dudley out shopping in preparation for when they started school. It was a touch early but she'd given the excuse herself. Meanwhile, Vernon was to make ready the spare bedroom for Harry. It was going to be an easier job than he'd first planned. He had intended to paint the walls fresh, but when he'd asked Harry what his favorite color was the night before...

_His nephew looked at him with wide eyes, seeming incredulous. Then he pursed his lips in thought and said, "Blue." Vernon nodded. "No, wait, red. Red! Um, well, green too though. Yeah, I like green best. Except for yellow. Like the sun? I really like yellow. But blue too. And..."_

He'd decided it would be just as well to leave the walls plain white. Petunia had sighed in exasperation and rolled her eyes when he'd told her. She was certain it was already quite enough that they were giving him a room, with gently used furniture of his own, as well as a little celebration on his birthday - how much more would he have them do? Vernon shook his head at himself; he agreed with her in some ways, since Harry really was a small disaster zone.

Actually purchasing things for their nephew was a gamble, as there was no telling how long they would survive him or he would survive them. There was very little he could think of to give Harry which he was sure would be safe in his hands.

* * *

"It would be fine if you gave me a wart. Really, I wouldn't mind," Harry told the toad for the sixth time that day. He'd been recatching him whenever he saw him, driven by his cousin's disgusted proclamation that touching toads gives you warts. "I mean, I guess it's kind of good for you, to be able to give a piece of yourself away like that." The toad blinked indifferently and Harry frowned a bit deeper.

What he would not say to the little animal was that learning to grow skin like his sounded as though it were only the first step towards greater imitations, such as changing skin color, growing claws for better tree-climbing and, of course, growing wings. Becoming a bit like a toad would put him closer to changing himself than he'd ever come before. Not that he could think of any particular _use_ for a wart...

"Oh, please! It's not that much to ask, is it? I promise if you do it I'll try to catch some bugs for you to eat. Please?"

The toad squirmed in his grasp a moment and when Harry loosened his fingers, it jumped from his hands to land a foot away, where it looked back to him. He thought the look meant something like, 'what an absolutely barmy little boy,' and he pouted back at it in return.

"Yes, well - try being a boring old _kid_ sometime and see how _you_ like it." He rolled his eyes and then turned over to lie on his back and stare up at the clouds in as much of a sulk as he could manage at the moment, which really wasn't much of one, considering. Harry was always more of a coper than a moper anyway but lately, he couldn't gather a real complaint if he tried. He was getting along with Dudley almost all of the time, his aunt was letting him play outside everyday and his uncle was in a good mood every time he saw him. He was also eating more and better things than he could remember ever having before and in spite of no longer feeling sick or overly tired, he was still staying in his Aunt Marge's room.

Breathing in fresh air sweetened with the scent of healthy grass, he mapped out the shifting clouds above him and told himself to forget about the silly toad for the moment. Things were quite too perfect for worrying.

"Boy, come in here!"

He bit his lip and amended to himself, _Things have been too perfect._

* * *

Petunia was feeling a bit put out by her role in the day's proceedings - that is, she was _being_ put out of her house, and the eviction had her dander up. At least she was going to be getting the boys' school shopping done while keeping them away from the house. She absently petted at Dudley's hair as she regarded her somewhat presentable nephew with mild annoyance. "There's to be no wandering off," she instructed, "I'm not about to spend my time having to search for you. If you get lost..." she trailed off and bit her tongue against a threat to simply abandon him in London. It was tempting but she had the feeling the words would leave a bitter taste in her mouth. She shook her head and waved her hand, unconsciously gesturing towards the cupboard Harry no longer slept in. "Just behave yourself, for once."

Darting a nervous look over his shoulder to the cupboard door, Harry nodded in eager acquiescence.

Dudley rolled his eyes at the exchange and grabbed Harry's wrist, feeling that the best way to keep his cousin from getting into trouble was to keep close track of him all day. He'd gotten rather used to having someone to play with and he was hardly going to lose him to the other boy's punishments now. "Can we go already?"

Frowning, Petunia placed her hand on the doorknob, looking the boys over critically. "Yes, Duddy, I suppose we may."

"Finally," he said as she opened the door, and he dutifully dragged Harry along behind him as he went to the car. They were supposed to be shopping for when they would start school, which sounded only slightly less dull than actually going to school did. The sooner they left, the sooner he could be back for his programs.

Watching her son shepherding Harry into the car, Petunia wondered just exactly what level of dramatics she had signed on for. While she was going to be juggling the boys by herself in busy stores, Vernon was going to supervise a 'secret' furniture delivery and have the house in order by the time she got back. As she got into the vehicle and saw in the rearview mirror that the boys were already engrossed in a slapping war, she thought to herself that dragging a children's dresser up the stairs didn't really sound all that hard.

"Stop that!" she shrieked. Surprisingly, it worked.

Dudley snickered and leaned over to his cousin, whispering something.

Harry just rolled his eyes and looked out the window, a small smile quirking his lips.

Petunia realized she was staring after a moment, and scolded herself as she started the car. With all of the things which were changing, she couldn't say she'd mind if an end to Harry and Dudley's backseat bickering was one of them.

* * *

Harry couldn't say he liked being dragged around by the hand, not even with the explanation that it was to keep him out of trouble. Dudley held on too tight and his palm was sweaty, and it was all Harry could do not to raise a fuss about it. He did try to tug away of course, but every time he did Dudley would just tug back and then Aunt Tuna would look at them like she wasn't sure if she should yell or not. He had to admit that getting dragged along by Dudley was at least better than getting dragged by his aunt would have been, and she didn't watch him as closely knowing he was right there, attached to Dudley.

He looked down at the dusty carpet and tried to wait patiently for his aunt to finish tutting at the sweater she was inspecting. It was some color he didn't have a name for, a little like pink, a little like orange, and a little bit painful to look at. Dudley didn't seem to mind though, and it was for him anyhow. Thankfully by the time Dudley's clothes were passed down to Harry, they were faded to much softer colors.

Aunt Tuna hummed at the sweater and held it up against his cousin's shoulders, stretching it out along his arms. Her eyes came to the hand that was gripping Harry's and they narrowed. _Great. And it isn't even my fault. I told him to just leave me alone, but would he listen? Oh, no - not to me!_

"Do you like it, Duddy?"

Dudley shrugged indifferently. There weren't a lot of places they went to buy clothes, and he knew there wasn't really much choice. He'd seen uglier sweaters before, so if this one might fit him... "Sure," he said in a bored tone. He _hated_ clothes shopping.

"Good then," she said in a sweet tone. "It _is_ adorable, isn't it?" She gathered other selected items over one arm and then gave a forced smile. "Let's get to a dressing room, darling."

Harry raised his eyebrows as Dudley finally let go of his hand, trailing after Aunt Tuna with a frown on his face. He knew that Dudley hated all of the fussing and nitpicking that came with getting new clothes, but he'd never really noticed how much before. He followed behind his aunt and cousin, musing that he wouldn't mind trading places. When they got to the dressing rooms he took a seat by the doorway, leaning back against the cushioned chair and preparing to wait for a good long lull.

His Aunt Tuna bustled Dudley into a dressing room with instructions, then came over and stood against the wall by Harry's chair. She looked down at him from the corners of her eyes, lips pursed in agitation. Harry slouched down in answer, hoping to be a smaller target.

"Sit up straight!" she immediately snapped, and then she walked back over to the dressing room door and began asking Dudley questions about how things fit. She had him come out and show off some things, and Harry determinedly covered any shocked laughter, remembering the miserable look his cousin had before.

Aunt Tuna was eventually satisfied and let Dudley go. He gave a relieved sigh and muttered, "Finally," and then said in a louder voice, "can we go to the toy store now?"

"No," she dismissed absently, "we aren't going there today. Mummy's already told you that five times, Diddydud."

Harry got up from his chair and stretched, glad they'd be going, wherever they were being taken next. "The park?" he asked hopefully, just as the thought occurred to him.

"Perhaps." Petunia relented absently.

"Hey!" Dudley squawked.

"We can get some ice cream there, Duddy dear. Wouldn't you like that?"

"Oh. Yeah, I guess," he reluctantly agreed. Stepping forward, he gave Harry a half-angry pout, still a bit put out that his own idea was rejected when Harry's wasn't.

"Good boy."

Dudley grabbed Harry's hand back up in a spiteful way, more because it bothered his cousin than because he was still worried Harry would get in trouble. They followed Petunia to a store register and waited as she checked out, subtly stomping on each other's feet until she turned and gave them both a glare. Once they got out of the store she ushered them to walk in front of her where she could see, hovering in a nervous way that said, 'There are odd people _everywhere.'_

After awhile she gestured them into a shop, and Dudley groaned as he saw it was a clothing store. "Mummy, we just _did_ my clothes shopping! I'm not trying anything on! I'm _not!"_

"I know, love. We're here for _Harry_ to get some school clothes. It won't take long, dear. Just be patient."

Harry stared up at his Aunt Tuna in bewilderment. He looked behind and all around himself, though he wasn't looking at the clothes. He was wondering if there was some _other_ Harry his Aunt Tuna could be talking about. Surely she didn't mean _him._

She grabbed up the hand Dudley wasn't holding and tugged him over to a clothes rack, Dudley still holding the other hand and waddling along behind them with a surprised look on his face. She began to pick through the rack, and Harry wasn't sure if it was good or bad that she wasn't humming at it the way she would if she were looking for something for Dudley. Then she tutted at a tshirt, and he felt strangely better.

Petunia frowned at the smiling teddy bear at the center of the shirt she was holding. She recalled the conversation Vernon had with the boy at the dinner table the night before and felt the surrealism of the moment when she asked, "You said you like yellow, yes?"

Harry stared at her but bobbed his head up and down all the same. "And green," he added after a moment. "And blue...and red." He looked around the store, seeing a lot of all those things. Then his eyes lit up and he pointed. "And that. What's that?"

She turned and looked. After a moment she saw the shirt he was pointing to and wondered if he ought to already know the name, "Purple."

"Purble. I like purble," he said with a nod.

"Per-_pull,"_ she corrected irritably. She closed her eyes for a moment and told herself that she would not lose her temper. Then she held the pale yellow shirt against Harry's shoulders and tried to look at him objectively; the color brought out Lily's eyes rather nicely, and she fought back a wince.

* * *

By the time they'd finished clothes shopping, Harry really didn't mind anymore that he was being dragged around by the hand; he was almost too happy in his own mind to even notice what the rest of him was doing anyway. Whatever Dudley hated about trying things on and getting new clothes, he couldn't understand it. Aunt Tuna had actually listened to what he said and let him pick things out himself. It was great enough that everything fit and didn't have any holes or spots, but he'd gotten to choose colors, and they were all bright and -

Harry knew he was only dreaming, but he just hoped he could dream a little longer. He couldn't imagine what might come next. He even had new white sneakers, since Aunt Tuna hadn't liked the way his old ones looked with new clothes. New, as in only ever _his_, and he couldn't get over that at all.

Petunia led the boys into the department store feeling harried and beaten. She had to admit it; her nephew looked rather nice once he was outfitted properly. She just knew this was going to lead to having to see him more, to other people wanting to see him and coo over him. It was strange how his presence seemed so much less ignorable once he was changed from his faded drab clothes into brighter colors. Of _course_ he would be partial to the colors of the rainbow, flinching away from olive and grey as though the quieter side of the color spectrum might burn his skin; if she didn't know better, she'd think he was contriving to be as loud in appearance as possible. _At least he didn't ask for anything neon..._

Dudley dragged his cousin along a bit sullenly. The day was going rather strangely, and he didn't know what to think of it. His mother had been getting a little nicer to Harry everyday, but this was just weird. At least Harry seemed to like trying things on, the little nutter.

The three came upon the school and office aisles of the store and Petunia waved the boys off towards the shelves piled with backpacks. "Pick one each," she instructed carelessly.

Harry was only a little surprised. He could really get used to making his own decisions, if this kept on. He went over to the shelves and started shifting through them carefully, looking them over closely and rubbing the fabric beneath his fingers to see what felt best.

Dudley sat down on the floor beside him and began tearing through the bottom shelf, trying to find whatever looked coolest. He quickly surrounded himself with his own pile on the floor, and he eagerly unzipped and unclasped everything as though searching for a treat hidden in one of the pockets. He glimpsed a girly-looking bag still on the shelf, with little daisies embroidered around the top, and he snatched it up and tossed it at Harry, who caught it with a surprised look on his face. "It's purble," Dudley explained in an innocent voice, and he held back a snicker as his cousin actually looked at it thoughtfully.

"That's pur-_pull," _a small voice corrected from behind them, and Dudley looked over his shoulder to see a little girl with slightly watery eyes. She was clutching her mother's hand and giving him a pouty glare, looking like she might either scold him or cry at any moment. Dudley looked between her and his cousin and then snorted; Harry gave him looks like that all the time. "And you shouldn't be making a mess," she went on bravely, "it's bad to act that way in the store!"

Dudley sneered, rolled his eyes and went back to looking through his pile. He wasn't stupid enough to insult the nosy little baby in front of her mother.

Harry stared at the girl; Dudley was just being Dudley, and he wasn't used to hearing his cousin be told off for that.

"Calm down, love," her mother said soothingly, "he's just looking through them. Do you see any you like?"

The girl bit her lip, briefly glaring at Dudley once more, and then she scanned over the shelves and stepped forward hesitantly. Harry got the feeling she was upset because Dudley spooked her, and he bit his tongue in thought as he wondered what he could do about that. He wasn't sure if he _could_ change the way his cousin effected smaller kids; they were right to worry, after all. The girl's mother was standing right behind her though, so what was there to be afraid of? He bit at the corner of his mouth, staring without any real interest at a black backpack that felt rough.

He wondered over it the same way he'd question the mysteries cats were too smug to share. He wished he could know what was wrong, and when he darted a look at her from the corner of his eyes he thought he did know, although it came and went too quickly for him to understand. There was a buzzing beneath her skin, a mystery almost more interesting than a cat's, and it was murmuring in a voice too quiet to hear, but he could _feel_ it. He could feel it the way he felt the fluttering which would wrap around him, when it was still too far away to touch.

She looked up and after she met his eyes she swallowed nervously. "It's rude to stare."

Harry blinked, and his mind worked for an excuse to keep staring, because he really didn't want to look away from something so interesting, something new and unlike anything else he'd seen before. The other children he'd seen in parks and stores weren't like this, so what was so special about her? What made her so...

"Harry? Have you been possessed by aliens?" Dudley questioned idly.

He looked down at his cousin and saw that he wasn't even looking back. "No," he answered anyway, "I don't think so. Do you think there are aliens hiding in the backpacks?" _Wouldn't Dudley have said something if he'd found one?_

"Maybe," Dudley said thoughtfully, "it would be a good way for them to get an army on Earth, if they just gobbled up kids' brains."

Harry shook his head. "My brain hasn't been gobbled," he assured him. He stepped around Dudley's growing mountain of backpacks and approached the mystery girl. He was more used to trying to charm mystery cats, but he had a feeling that this girl at least wouldn't scratch him, probably. He held out the purple backpack Dudley had tossed him and offered it for her inspection. "What about this one?" he asked politely, and she turned away from a red and green bag to stare at him with wide eyes. _Well, I didn't _mean _to sneak up on her._

She nervously searched his face for a moment and Harry did his best to look relaxed, the way he did when he was talking to shy animals. Then she looked down to the bag and ran her eyes over it. "It's very nice," she said after a moment. "Purple's my favorite color," she added as she looked back up to his face. She seemed uncertain and after a moment Harry realized she wasn't sure if _he_ wanted it or not. He held it out further and waited as she cautiously took it from him.

"It is nice," he agreed, "but I like green better. And red. And blue. And yellow." He frowned in thought. _Green grass and trees, red feathers on birds, the blue sky, the beautiful yellow sun..._ "I can't actually pick," he confided to her. Sometimes the best way to learn a secret was to share one.

She smiled at him, and as Harry felt it, he knew what was so special about her. The buzzing beneath her skin was a little stronger and he could almost hear the murmuring.

"Ready, dear?" her mother asked.

The girl's face fell a bit but she nodded and stepped forward, taking her mother's hand. She looked back towards him and blinked in surprise as she saw the sweet smile he was giving her, his eyes burning with intelligence, with sudden recognition. She saw him a bit more clearly for a moment and could almost say she knew him, too. Perhaps this was what it would be like when she made friends at school; there would be some unexplainable connection. She walked away carefully thinking it over.

Harry grinned like a loon.

Dudley blinked at him, feeling a little worried. _"Have _you been possessed?" He stood up from his pile of bags and kicked and tripped his way over one side to stand beside his cousin. Harry didn't answer and Dudley raised his hand up to his cousin's forehead as he'd seen his mother do, checking to see if he was feverish.

Waving his cousin's hand away, Harry shook his head a bit and then let out a short pleased laugh. He had felt the quiet buzzing on the air and it had been just heavy enough for him to recognize the feeling. Whether the girl knew it or not she had shared her secret. The soft murmuring within her had been speaking the language of shadows. She was a monster, just like him.

After such a long time of looking for other monsters, he'd met one without even trying. Maybe she was just a human sort of monster, something unable to travel through the shadows, but it was almost better to see another monster who was just like him anyway.

"Harry?"

He'd always known he was never alone but he hadn't always believed there were other _people_ like him. People who were monsters beneath their skin.

"Harrrry..." Dudley waved a hand in front of his cousin's face, then it occurred to him what might be wrong and he pulled his hand back. He'd seen Bambi, he knew the score. "Oh, god," Dudley said with a roll of his eyes. "You _like_ her, don't you?" He scrunched his nose up in disgust. "You've been..._twitterpated,"_ he spat the last word.

Harry looked over to his cousin and just smiled. He didn't know what that last word meant, but it sounded funny enough that it just might fit what he was feeling.

"Well," Dudley continued tauntingly, "it doesn't matter. You're probably never gonna see her again."

That hadn't occurred to Harry. His eyes narrowed as he considered the possibility of never seeing this other monster again. _But of course I will, though. If we both speak to shadows and other monsters then it wouldn't be too hard to find her. How many other monsters in England look like people, anyway? And after the birds teach me to fly that'll make things even easier._ He nodded his head. "Yeah, I will," he told his cousin confidently.

"Boys? Are you ready yet?" Petunia frowned down at them, and the bags scattered around them. She was holding two plastic shopping bags which were tied closed at the top, and Harry wondered what it was she'd had to buy in such a hurry. Dudley, having more experience with such a picture, already knew.

"What'd you get?" he asked eagerly.

Petunia pursed her lips. "Art supplies for school."

Harry looked up at her in confusion. There were plenty of that sort of thing in the same section Harry and Dudley were standing in, but his Aunt Tuna had gone off somewhere else all the while they'd been there.

Dudley pouted and was about to argue the point when he remembered that his cousin's birthday was supposed to be soon. "Okay," he agreed easily. Then he turned back to his pile of backpacks and lifted up a big black one with bright orange trim. "This one, Mummy," he told her, and then stepped out of the ring of bags as though he had nothing to do with them.

Frowning at his cousin's mess, Harry began picking the bags up and putting them back where they belonged. He didn't really mind things being messy, but that other monster had been upset by it, and this felt like something he could do for her. After getting things back and looking almost neat again, except for the dust smeared on some of the bags, he stood up and went back to where the girl had been standing before. Grabbing the red and green backpack she'd been handling, he picked it up off the shelf and investigated.

The biggest part of the bag was light green, and then there was a slightly smaller bright red zippered section in front of it, and a green pocket on the front of that. It felt smooth and cool to the touch and was light in his hands. He touched it carefully and tried to feel some echo of the other monster.

"That one, Harry?"

When he glanced up, he was surprised to see his aunt seemed patient. _If that isn't a trick from the shadows, I don't know what is._ "Yeah, this one, Aunt Tuna."

She nodded and ushered Dudley to walk in front of her on the way to the register.

Dudley grabbed onto Harry's wrist, towing him along behind him.

Harry had a soft smile on his face as he was dragged along. He wondered to himself if a part of that other monster might be hidden in his new bag somewhere.

* * *

July 30, 1986

Lying in the grass with his eyes closed, Harry tried to hold onto his peace. He was happy, he told himself. He was safe and he was happy. Outside, with the clean warm air and the noise of birds and the feeling of the world breathing and moving all around him. He was fine. _For now._

His family was still being nice. His Aunt Tuna was taking an awful lot of naps and she kept saying she needed an aspirin but at least she wasn't yelling at him. Uncle Vernon actually seemed happy, and he kept covering his mouth and laughing like someone had just told a joke, even though no one had. Dudley - he almost thought he was friends with his cousin, except he didn't think friends were supposed to argue so much.

_Everything_ would be great, except that it was going to end. He was supposed to move into his old bedroom again soon. The door to the room was locked and Harry didn't have to open his eyes to see the bars on the outside of the window. He was going to get put away again soon.

He heard the backdoor slam closed and couldn't decide if he was relieved or annoyed.

"You're moping again?" Dudley asked.

"No."

There was an exasperated sigh from above his head. "Come on, let's look for your stupid toad, dweeb."

Harry opened his eyes and saw his cousin's face looking down at him expectantly. He knew Dudley thought he might be getting sick again, since he wouldn't tell him what was wrong, but Harry wanted to pretend things were all right as well as he could. There was no reason to ruin the time he had left. _Besides, maybe they won't lock me in there _all _the time..._ He got up off from the grass and led the way to the bushes; for some reason playing with Dudley chased most of his fears away, as though his cousin had a shadow trick of his own.

"Maybe we'll see a snake, too," Dudley said with more excitement. "They should live around here somewhere, they're supposed to be nearly everywhere."

For some reason, Harry smiled at the thought of seeing a snake. The idea held some distant echo of a pleasant memory. "That'd be great," he agreed.

They delved into the grass and weeds, rustled the branches of the bushes and Harry crawled under them to run his fingers over the lines of the fence that bordered the neighbor's yard, digging at the spaces underneath. In the excitement of the search, Harry completely forgot he should have to remind himself he was happy.

Dudley rolled his eyes as his cousin pawed through the brush trying to find the dumb toad. He didn't know why Harry liked the thing but if it kept him from lying around like he just didn't have the energy to get up, then he'd help look for it all afternoon. For some reason Harry had seemed down since the day after they got back from shopping. He'd been fine one minute, gone outside to play and come back in biting his lip and staring at Dudley's parents nervously. Somehow, Dudley figured Harry had managed to get into trouble for the one minute of the day he hadn't been watching him. His cousin was probably worried about what would happen when his parents found out.

Not that it mattered. Playing with Harry was a lot more fun than playing by himself and Dudley wasn't going to let him be taken away. _If Mummy tries to steal him, I'll tell her no. And if she doesn't listen, I'll just scream and stamp on her feet until she changes her mind._ He smirked smugly. He was quite confidant in his foot-stamping abilities.

* * *

Once upon a time, dinner had been a dignified affair. Certainly, Rose Evans had always insisted on it in her house.

Petunia was trying her best to ignore the strange vegetable sculpture Dudley was coaxing Harry to help him build. This was one case where she couldn't blame her nephew's influence, as Dudley was clearly having a hard time inviting his cousin to join in his habit of playing with his food. She suppressed an impulse to praise Harry, as he sneakily ate the broccoli off from his plate while Dudley used his own greens to build some sort of fortress around his potatoes. It may have been ill-mannered of her son but she told herself that he was only six and at least he was being creative.

"Don't let the gravy out," Dudley muttered, "that's the mote. We need it."

Harry snuck another bite off from his plate while his cousin adjusted the tree line in back of the carrot castle. "There's some corn sneaking in there," he pointed out helpfully.

Petunia sighed and took a drink from her water glass. They'd only been sitting down a few minutes. She could let them have their little game a short while longer. Perhaps they'd even be tired of it enough to listen when she told them to stop, and eat their...castle and forest, apparently. Vernon chuckled behind his napkin and she looked to him, honestly _trying_ to glare...

He just smiled and winked. Clearly she didn't look cross enough. She bit the corners of her lips, though they really hadn't been up, and tried to clear any amusement from her face. Her parents certainly hadn't ever let her and her sister build a carrot castle during dinner; it was unseemly and she ought to remember so.

"What's the aliens?" Harry whispered.

Dudley frowned in thought as he looked between their plates. "Mum," he appealed, "can we have some M&Ms?"

"No, Duddy. Absolutely not. Stop playing with your food and eat your dinner." She did have _some_ limits, she told herself.

Vernon cleared his throat and gave the boys a meaningful look, so that Dudley reluctantly began dismantling his castle with his fork while Harry gave a relieved sigh and started eating in earnest. He kept from laughing at them, not wanting his Pet to get upset. Raising his water glass to her in salute, he saw her soften and give a small smile. Things really were perfect.

"I'm not gonna eat the knights," Dudley spoke up in protest. "It's cannalism."

Harry glanced at his cousin in curiosity. "What's that?"

"Inappropriate dinner conversation, is what," Petunia said curtly. "Dudley, just eat your peas."

Dudley gave his mother a mulish look and then leaned over and stage whispered to Harry, "It's people eating other people."

Leaning back from his plate with wide eyes, Harry looked to his Uncle Vernon. "We _don't_ eat people, right?" He poked the meat on his plate doubtfully.

"Of course not. It's illegal and immoral."

"Huh?"

"No."

"Oh."

Petunia closed her eyes and began counting to ten. She'd always wanted daughters but she would never, _ever_ say that out loud.


	13. Happy Birthday Who?

**Jensindenial,** thanks! **Ranger Dragen,** thank you! There won't be any official pairings for Dogs and Shakespeare, as it's only going to cover Harry's childhood up to the end of his second year. Pairings for the sequel are completely undecided, though I do have a list of possible relationships in my notes. I do know that Harry isn't going to have a magical one true love at first sight, because I don't believe that's realistic, and that whatever I do with whoever, there's still going to be a mix of hetero and same sex couples. What Harry can do right now is call some of his magic to the surface, where it is, to an extent, at his disposal. He's been using this to help him sense things out, like having a bunch of magical feelers extended towards what he's trying to assess. The natural 'mysteries' of shadows are helping Harry to explain the things he doesn't yet understand, as well as feeding his rather healthy imagination. As a rule, I prefer to use existing characters over original ones, so the mystery girl is someone you know. **AchillesMonkey,** thank you. And yes, isn't Dudley just a charmer? ;) **Belladonna16,** thank you. I'm glad you're enjoying Harry and Vernon. This Harry does keep surprising me. **RRW,** we think alike. That's _not_ my plan, but it's so _close_ to my plan... Great minds. ;) **Caldonya,** thank you, _very_ much. **Chase-kun,** thank you. I intend to try to maintain the same tone throughout and Harry's a great help with that. **Jaid Ziaen,** that is exactly who I introduced, and you are the _only one_ to call me on it! If I had to sort Harry right now, as he is, I'd actually be sticking him in Ravenclaw - but children aren't sorted at six, so that doesn't much matter. I can't believe you told me to take my time. XD I listened though, and I think the chapter's probably better for it. Thank you so much for supporting this story! I'm glad you haven't forgotten it. And Harry's birthday is finally here! Yay! **Kai Minomono,** thank you, I was actually wondering if the beginning of the last chapter tied in well enough at all. Harry really does need more 'monsters' in his life. **cyiusblack,** thank you muchly. **,** thanks. I do like writing Harry and Dudley together, they're quite a pair. **harry shall rise,** questions are a _good_ thing. What happened is that Harry expended a great deal of magical energy when he shielded his family in the car crash, was sapped for a little while and as of now he's recovering nicely. He hasn't lost his magic, at all. In fact, it just might be growing back a little better than before. **Gertrud-Eveline,** Harry and Luna really would be a magical match. I can't believe I never wondered about ' husband! **Wonderbee31,** thanks. I'd say more but I don't want to give plot bits away. **SoujiroWannabe,** thank you. This will be an epic length fic, I suppose, but I can make no promises or even guesses on when it will be finished. I've got real life things tugging me away, but my interest remains strong. I tend to work ahead, such as spending time writing Harry's tenth birthday when I was trying to do his sixth one here (could not stop myself, honestly). The obsession runs deep enough to thrive. **jumping-jo,** thank you! **Canadian Harry Potter Fan,** thank you. I'm glad you're still among the readers. **Reader One,** thank you. I've read too much of abusive raging Vernon - I _needed_ to write the Vernon who's just a man trying hard to do right by his family. Besides, Harry can have a perfectly screwy childhood without being deliberately emotionally damaged. **Ella1331,** thank you! I'm still working on the 'soon' part of updates. **Hebi R.,** thank you. Deep down, I think Petunia really is happier with Harry just over seeing some vegetables get eaten. She did _almost_ praise him.

* * *

Chapter 13: Happy Birthday Who?

Something was shaking Harry horribly, holding him by the shoulders. He cracked his eyes open as much as he could but he was still too asleep to get them open enough to see anything clearly. Struggling away from whatever was attacking him, Harry toppled over to the other side of the bed when he was suddenly let go. Still half-buried in the covers, he wriggled over to the far side of the bed completely, shrugging underneath the blankets until they were up passed his nose. Blinking groggily, he peered over the comforter to see what sort of thing had come after him while he was sleeping.

It was a Dudley sort of thing, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at him with excitement lit in his eyes. Harry moaned in protest, pulling the comforter up over his head. He should have known.

"What? No! Don't go back to sleep! Come _on,_ Harry," Dudley said as he crawled over and started tugging the blankets away from his cousin, "you have to get up! It's your birthday! There's presents! Cake! Wake _up!"_

A hot curl of hurt anger swept through Harry and woke him up the rest of the way. He relinquished the blankets and glared up at his cousin. "Don't do that! I've told you, I don't _have_ a birthday."

Dudley frowned. "Yeah, but you do. Mummy says everyone has a birthday. I just wasn't supposed to tell you 'bout it. Except that now it _is_ your birthday, so it doesn't matter if I tell." His smile was a bit wobbly.

If Harry didn't know better, he'd think that there was a 'sorry' in there somewhere. He did know better though, since his cousin _hadn't_ said it and even if he had, it wasn't about making up hurtful stories. "Stop being mean!"

"I'm _not_ being mean," Dudley said in a level tone. For a moment he just stared down at Harry in consternation, but then he rolled his eyes and lightly added, "Stop being a baby!" He grabbed Harry by the arms, intending to just drag him out of bed.

"Ow!" Harry cried out at the pressure of Dudley's hands.

Jumping back as though electrocuted, Dudley's eyes went wide and he looked at his cousin in concern. "Sorry!"

Biting his lip, Harry just rubbed his arms and stared down at the comforter. "S'okay." He raised his eyes and gave a pouty glare. "Just don't do it again."

Shaking his head, Dudley hopped off from the bed and stood next to it. "Fine, fine, okay. Let's go, then. Get up."

"For _what?" _Harry asked as he looked at Dudley challengingly, silently daring him to say 'birthday' again.

"For your presents and cake. _Now._ I'm hungry."

Frowning, Harry just lay back against the pillows. Judging from the bright chirping of the birds outside the window, energetic but far apart, it was barely even morning. "Go get your cake yourself. _I'm_ going back to sleep." He closed his eyes to suit his words.

Staring in disbelief, Dudley fought down his first impulse to pinch Harry as hard as he could. Ignoring presents was just wrong. He reminded himself that Harry, who never got any presents and didn't even believe he had any now, didn't know any better.

Harry opened his eyes after a moment and saw Dudley still standing there, his arms crossed and his face going red. "Um..."

Dudley closed his own eyes briefly. He didn't want to hurt Harry. He really did, but he really, _really_ didn't. He repeated this to himself until he believed it and then opened his eyes. He saw Harry looking at him with slightly squinted eyes, vision still blurry without his dorky glasses. His forehead was furrowed and he had a little frown, like he wasn't sure what to think of anything. His cousin looked pitiful, and Dudley held onto that. "You should come down to breakfast, anyway," he said with great patience.

"Aunt Tuna's made it already?"

Dudley nodded. "Extra early. And now it's waiting on you," he added, hoping the guilt would work.

"Oh," Harry said in a bewildered tone. Lately Aunt Tuna either fed him when she saw him or came up to wake him herself. She'd been very insistent about giving him things to eat. He supposed it was possible she'd sent Dudley up to get him, and now his cousin was making up stories to try to get him downstairs faster. It would be quite like Dudley to want to get down to his own food as quickly as possible. Sliding out of bed and onto the floor, Harry began following his cousin to the door. "But why so early?"

'So that you can open your presents before Daddy leaves for work, dummy,' Dudley didn't say. Clearly, Harry wasn't going to believe a word about birthdays until he could see it was true for himself. So he just grabbed Harry by the wrist and tugged him along at a faster pace, muttering, "I dunno."

Nearly used to getting pulled around by his cousin, Harry held back from sighing and hurried to keep up. Aunt Tuna must have made something special, for Dudley to be so eager to get to his plate.

Dudley dragged Harry along, stopping when they got into the kitchen and looking around the room expectantly. Harry thought he saw what his cousin must be looking for; set in the middle of the kitchen table was a pile of gifts. There were three big boxes with a few smaller packages standing up against them, all wrapped in either blue paper with a confetti print or cream paper with balloons. Harry recognized the wrapping from Dudley's last birthday. The gifts were topped with bows, silver, blue and red.

Certainly, _something_ was going on today.

"Where's the cake?" Dudley demanded.

"We'll have cake in the afternoon, pumpkin," Petunia said as she watched her nephew warily.

"Whose birthday is it, Aunt Tuna?" Harry asked in an oddly flat voice.

Petunia shifted uncomfortably, wishing she could skip this particular step of things. She'd spent too much time thinking of her entire family the whole week through, and the things her _mother_ would say, never mind what _Lily_ would do...

"It's yours," Dudley said impatiently. He'd gone to the kitchen table to inspect the gifts and was shaking a small box, wrapped in the blue paper with a silver bow on top. "Now get over here and open your presents so we can play with them," he ordered imperiously.

"Put that down, Duddy Darling." Ignoring her son's pout, Petunia turned to Harry and cleared her throat. "It _is_ your birthday. Six years old today," she said curtly.

Harry stared at his Aunt Tuna as though she were speaking another language. She seemed nervous about something, and Aunt Tuna was never nervous about anything; rather, she was the one who made other people stammer and fidget. Something was wrong with her, but before he could do more than wonder what, he was startled by a bellow from directly behind him.

"And _Happy_ Birthday!" Vernon exclaimed as he came into the room at his Pet's words. Harry jumped in surprise and stared up at him from over his shoulder, blinking when Vernon reached down and patted his head. "Six _whole_ years," he said in a tone normally used when Dudley did something well. He leaned down to his nephew's eye-level and added with a wink, "I think you've gotten a bit taller overnight."

"Vernon!" Petunia shrieked in a scandalized tone.

Harry darted his eyes from his uncle to his aunt, trying to work out whether he had done something good or awful, while also spinning over the idea of him having a _birthday_. With presents? And maybe cake? And he'd _grown_ overnight? Like the plants grew? Turning back to his Uncle, he addressed the most important matter there first. "I grew? Really?"

Giving a slightly guilty look to his wife, he set his hands on Harry's shoulders and looked him over carefully. "Just a bit," he confirmed. There, that didn't have to imply anything odd, did it? Nothing..._otherworldly_.

"And it's my birthday?" Harry asked, still disbelieving and not only a little confused.

"It is," Vernon said in a definite voice.

Harry was the picture of befuddlement. "Where did it come from?" he asked after a moment's thought. "Why didn't I have one before?"

Vernon looked to Petunia and saw her expression was almost pleading for him to go on and give the story she'd thought up, as though she didn't want to tell it herself. He nodded and focused his eyes back on the little green ones staring up at him through thick glasses. "You were born on July 31, 1980, and that's where the day comes from. We would have celebrated it sooner, except that your Aunt Petunia and I didn't know when you were born, exactly. We knew it was only a few months after Dudley, and that's all," he lied regretfully. "It wasn't until your Aunt Petunia stumbled across your birth certificate that we knew the date." He clapped his nephew on the shoulder. "Perhaps we should have said something before now, but we thought it might be a nice surprise."

Harry thought this over, beginning to believe it was true. His uncle wouldn't play such a cruel trick, at least he didn't think he would, and if he were dreaming then the explanations would probably make more sense. "Birth certifcate?"

"It's a piece of paper," Dudley said importantly, remembering the term from his talk with his mother. "It says when you're born so people don't forget to give you presents."

Vernon coughed out an amused laugh and stood. "Yes, that's just what it is," he agreed with a smile. Patting Harry on the head once more, he went to his place at the table, setting Petunia into motion as she began laying breakfast out.

Harry still stood near the doorway, blinking bemusedly.

Taking his own seat and reluctantly replacing a package he'd been rattling back into the pile, Dudley began digging into his sausages and eggs, eyes still straying back to the gifts. He looked to his cousin's place at the table, intending to demand he open one already, and was surprised to see his chair empty. Spotting him standing away from the table with a dazed expression on his face, Dudley narrowed his eyes in irritation. "Harry!" he snapped. "Presents!"

Harry met his eyes, though his own were still a bit vacant.

"If you don't get over here and start opening them," Dudley threatened, "_I'm_ going to!"

"You'll do no such thing, Duddy," Petunia reprimanded in a no-nonsense tone.

"Quite right," Vernon said more lightly, "those are Harry's gifts and he can open them as he pleases."

Tilting his head to the side like a bird, Harry took a few cautious steps into the bizarre world he'd woken up to. When nothing badly strange or dangerous seemed about to happen, he straightened and walked to his chair more normally. Sitting down, he looked from his full plate to the wrapped boxes on the table which towered over him once he was seated. Inspecting them with interest, he looked back to his uncle. "They're all mine?" He wanted to be very sure of that before he got too excited, just in case it was all a mistake. He pointed up to the presents to make it clear he wasn't talking about the food on his plate or perhaps something else he just hadn't noticed yet, maybe hidden behind the little mountain of gifts. Really, they _could_ be for Dudley, maybe. Or they might be waiting to go in the mail for his Aunt Marge.

Vernon nodded in satisfaction. "All of them. Happy Birthday, Harry."

It was over, Harry knew. Whether it was all a game or a dream or a misunderstanding, he was long gone anyway. His stomach was fluttering in excitement and as the belief in the situation snuck up on him, the corners of his mouth lifted until he suddenly broke out in a wide grin. He gave in and let himself trust what was happening.

"Thank you," was out from his mouth before he could taste it, and he looked from his Uncle Vernon to his Aunt Tuna with watery eyes.

"Oh, geesh," Dudley complained, "don't cry about it. If it makes you sad, _I_ can take your presents."

Harry looked at him in surprise as the thought struck him. It was an awfully large pile, in his opinion, and Dudley had been very nice to him lately, however long that would last. Perhaps it would last longer if Harry could give him something. "Do you want one?"

Petunia jerked in surprise.

Dudley stared at him a moment. "Are you _nuts?_"he asked at last. Teasing was fun, and sure Dudley was eager to know what new things they'd have to play with, but taking birthday gifts from a cousin who'd never gotten them before was just beyond wrong. Maybe worse than stealing. "You haven't had a birthday in forever! Not since you were _born!_ Mine's come every year and I get _twice_ as much stuff. Besides, we'll just play with the things together, anyway. Like we play with my stuff." He continued to look at Harry as though he were an idiot, even as he sunk lower in his chair with a blush.

"Oh. Alright." It did sound nice, being able to share things that belonged to _him_ instead of just using Dudley's toys everyday. Remembering his wake-up call in a different light, Harry guiltily met his cousin's eyes. "Sorry I didn't believe you."

Looking a bit smug, Dudley shrugged, deciding to be the bigger boy about it. "It's fine. Now open something."

As far as apologies went, there were worse ways of making something up to someone than having to open gifts. Harry stuffed a large bite of breakfast into his mouth and while he was still swallowing he reached for a big flat and floppy gift, wrapped in the cream and balloon paper with a blue bow. He stroked the paper reverently, for once excited by the mystery of what might be inside a festively wrapped box.

"Hurry up!"

It didn't take any more encouragement than that. He hooked his fingers into a fold in the wrapping and tore it up, ripping the front of the paper down halfway, just as he'd seen Dudley do on birthdays and Christmases. The floppy thing was a book, with writing at the top and a picture of beautiful golden cats with a big purple snake and two funny looking ponies. One cat was covered in black spots and another had brown fluff all around its face. The shorter pony was white with black stripes and the taller one was really skinny, with gold fur and dark brown spots and an incredibly stretched-out neck that reminded Harry of his Aunt Tuna. Pulling the paper off completely, he saw a furry little boy in the corner, hanging off from a big-leafed branch with bananas dangling off the end.

Dudley scowled. "A _book?"_

"Coloring book," Petunia corrected.

"Wow," Harry enthused. Setting the wrapping on the table, he started flipping through the black and white pictures with great interest. Dudley had lots of coloring books, but he normally just scribbled on a few pages and then tossed them aside. Harry thought the idea of filling things with color was rather thrilling. Maybe Dudley would let him borrow his crayons, if Harry lets him scribble in it a little. The black and white pony would look much better if it were blue and green. "Thank you," he said as he looked between his aunt and uncle.

Vernon beamed over his coffee while Petunia attempted a smile.

"Another one," Dudley instructed.

Harry blinked at him in surprise. He was still looking at the _first_ one.

_"Now,"_ he insisted, and handed Harry a fair sized box which made a heavy rattling noise when it was moved.

Setting the coloring book down beside his plate, Harry accepted the box, shifting it in his hands curiously. He was biting his tongue and swinging his feet beneath the table, and he thought that he was really starting to get Dudley's obsession with presents. It was overwhelming, to have so many things that were his, given to him so generously and honestly _without_ reason, because there wasn't anything saying his Aunt Tuna and Uncle Vernon _had_ to be so nice to him on his birthday. _His_ birthday, he stressed in his mind as he began unwrapping the gift. Apparently he got one after all.

He tore the blue wrapping off to reveal a green box with a picture on the front of...well, they were furry, sitting on some grass and holding something. "What is it?" he asked his uncle.

"A puzzle," Dudley lamented.

Harry turned to Dudley and frowned slightly, though it was work to pull his smile down that far. "The _picture_."

Dudley leaned over more to get a better look and then blinked at him as though he'd asked a stupid question. "Bears. With a honey-thing."

"Beehive," Vernon provided, looking between the boys and wondering if they shouldn't already know those things.

"I told you, you need to watch more television," Dudley reproved.

"It's boring," Harry said with a shrug, though he supposed a show with bears couldn't be _too_ dull.

"You're crazy," Dudley answered lightly, passing Harry a little box in blue paper with a red bow.

Harry shook it a little, as he'd learned was the proper thing by watching Dudley countless times. There was a quiet shuffling noise inside and when he opened it, he gave a yip of delight. "Thank you!" His legs kicked a bit faster underneath the table as his eyes greedily ran over the colors displayed on his new, rather large, box of crayons. He recognized the huge numbers on the front of the box and gave another high cry of happiness. _"Hundred,"_ he read in awe.

"Hem. Yes," Vernon confirmed, "so be careful not to lose any."

Petunia snorted. It had taken her a good while to convince her husband that it was safe to give Harry crayons. She was fairly sure the boy wouldn't eat them or shove them up his nose or in his ears, as Vernon feared he would. There really hadn't been much she'd suggested Harry could have which Vernon hadn't thought of a reason he shouldn't. Nothing sharp or which could become sharp if broken, nothing small enough to swallow or choke on, nothing heavy enough that either boy couldn't safely throw it at the other's head...

Crayons had only gotten through when Petunia argued that they couldn't be swallowed without chewing, and if he started chewing on one the taste would probably force him to spit it out. As for shoving it in his ears or nose, it was hardly going to go anywhere, was it? Why on earth he'd worry over such things, she'd rather not know. Though she had a voice she tried to ignore which said Marge would have been the sort of child who would be stupid enough to eat whatever she found on the floor.

"I won't lose any," Harry promised. "Oh, this is so..._thank_ you!"

Harry turned his grin on Dudley and even though the older boy wasn't excited about Harry getting something _he_ already had, Dudley returned the contagious smile, happy for his cousin. He passed him a smallish box wrapped in the cream paper and topped with a big silver bow. He was starting to enjoy just seeing Harry have fun, even if it was over boring gifts.

Reluctantly setting his crayons down, Harry took the new box and shook it up, only hearing a soft shuffling. It was a little bit heavy and he unwrapped it with great curiosity. Beneath the wrapping was an unmarked white box and Harry eagerly lifted the lid, feeling a bit impatient as he then had to part some layers of tissue paper. _A book,_ he saw, _not a coloring book though. Is it?_ He lifted it out from the box and his eyes ran over the cover picture of a girl smiling up at him. She was leaning against what looked like a park bench, holding the stem of a white flower with both hands and smiling warmly just above the blossom. The picture was surrounded with raised silver and Harry's fingers petted at it before drifting over the smooth fabric which covered the rest of the book.

He opened the book up expecting to see words, but as he flipped through the thick pages he only saw more pictures. Dudley had a few picture books; they were all rather fun to go through, when he had the chance. The books normally had pictures that were all alike in some way, animals or cars or buildings. The pictures in Harry's new book were all of the little girl on the cover.

She was pretty, with hair that reminded him of the fire from his dreams and eyes that looked a lot like his own, only with more sparkle to them. There were a lot of pictures of her outside, smiling, laughing, swinging. The further through the book he looked, the older she was in the pictures, from about Harry's age to at least twice that. There were a few pictures of her with other children, and one of her and another girl sitting between a man and a woman who may have been their parents. The three others in that picture looked somehow familiar and he ran a finger over them as though he could learn more from it that way. "Who are they?"

Petunia had been watching him like a hawk, feeling tangled up inside herself, and now she found herself trying to hold back from excusing herself to go sick up. Of all the pictures the boy had to ask about, she'd rather it hadn't been that one first. "Those are your grandparents," she started, because that was easiest, "and that's your mummy and I, when we were girls," she forced herself to ground out.

Harry gasped and his eyes widened. He stopped breathing and felt his heart stop beating for a moment. He didn't think his Aunt Tuna had red hair as a little girl, and his eyes went over the picture more deeply than before, desperately hungry.

Dudley perked up in his chair. "That's Aunt Lily?"

Petunia shuddered.

"I've never seen a picture," Dudley said. "Let me see," he told Harry, and he reached over to take the album.

Harry clutched it tightly, cradling it close to his chest, just far enough from being pressed to his heart so that he could keep his eyes on the green-eyed girl looking out at him with a soft smile.

Vernon reached out a hand to stop Dudley from trying again. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Harry's never seen a picture either."

Dudley sat back with a pout. He was just curious. His Aunt Marge visited all the time but he hadn't even known there _were_ pictures of his Aunt Lily. She wasn't even talked about. "Where were they?"

"With the birth certificate," Petunia said smoothly. There wasn't anyway she was going to explain that she'd known exactly where Lily's pictures had been, from the moment she'd hidden them in the basement years before, but had simply withheld them. They'd been a presence in her home, only as imaginary as Lily's presence through her son. Keeping them out of sight allowed her sister to stay out from her thoughts on most days but with the way she was starting over with Harry, the way Vernon was insisting they should, she knew it wouldn't matter where the pictures were hidden, or even if she could bring herself to throw them away. Every time she met the boy's eyes, she saw Lily in her mind more clearly than what film could capture.

She could hear Lily's laughter in Harry's, watch her chasing pigeons through the park while her son looked longingly at every bird he saw and she couldn't escape her sister's smiles when they came to sit upon Harry's lips. If the boy was going to be in sight, and stay in sight, then Petunia was going to continue seeing Lily everywhere she looked, and she'd resigned herself to that. There was no longer any reason to deny the boy pictures. It would be cruel and pointless. Impractical, even, in the long run.

Harry had turned the page back to a picture of the girl - his _mummy_ - holding a little grey kitten and rubbing noses with it. She was sitting down outside on the grass, wearing a striped pink shirt and jeans. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners, and even though her mouth was only smiling a little, it looked like she was just _grinning_ everywhere else. Harry didn't know how a person could be smiling with their body, but he rather thought she was. He touched the image of her hair, running down her back in a ponytail, and tried to imagine or remember what it must be like to touch a river of fire.

"Are you okay?"

"What?" Harry asked as he looked up, startled at his cousin's question.

"You're shaking," Dudley pointed out, his brows furrowed with worry and confusion.

"I-" Harry's voice stuck in his throat and he shook his head, looking back down to the book. He turned the pages, sifting through a wealth of pictures and stopping at one of his mummy with her mouth stretched wide around a laugh, eyes crinkled again, her hands held out over a bowl in someone's kitchen. Her face and hands were smeared with what Harry guessed to be chocolate, like from the brownie mixes Aunt Tuna would let Dudley eat the leftovers from. Her eyes looked a little darker in this picture, like when a plant was just lushly healthy and eager to brag about it.

Harry wondered if _his_ eyes ever looked that way.

"You're _not_ okay?" Dudley asked confusedly.

Harry nodded, and then shook his head. He looked up and stared at his Aunt Tuna with wide eyes and saw her flinch. _This was what she was nervous about,_ he realized, and then he passed that thought right over because it really didn't deserve attention. Nothing deserved his attention except the freckled girl in the photos. "My Mummy," he said to his aunt, though at that point he didn't really need confirmation and wouldn't have believed a denial.

"Yes," she said in a strained voice. She cleared her throat and tried a smile. "That's your mother. It's a lily she's holding on the cover," she added. There was a matching album on the living room bookshelf with a little blonde girl holding a purple petunia, though it was missing a few pictures. Petunia supposed she may as well put them back now.

"Harry?" Dudley asked in a cautious voice. It was obvious his cousin was getting a little nuts - more so than usual - and he thought he could understand why but there were still presents to be opened. When Harry looked to him again, Dudley frowned. "You're _crying?"_

Blinking in confusion, Harry was about to say 'no' when he felt something dripping down the curve of his cheek. He raised a hand to his face and brushed at it, then held it out before him and saw that his fingers were glistening wet. "I guess," he admitted, not really caring.

There were a few big reasons Dudley could think of for Harry to be sad at the moment, and he didn't think any of them ought to be talked about on a birthday. "Can I look at those?" he asked quietly. "You still have other presents to open."

Harry looked down at the book and back to his cousin. He really didn't want to let the pictures go. There wasn't anything else he could get that would be better.

"I'll be careful with them," Dudley reassured. "I'll just look at them while you're opening the rest of your stuff." Not sure if he was going to get what he wanted or not, he added on a word he seldom used. "Please?"

It took a moment, but Harry did hand it over, slowly and with great care. He watched avidly as his cousin looked over the cover photo before opening the book.

"Wow," Dudley commented, "she was really pretty." He grabbed a floppy package that he figured was another coloring book and passed it over just to move things along, not even looking to see Harry open it. "She doesn't look anything like us," he said to himself.

"Harry's eyes," Petunia said with something like her usual composure.

"Yeah," Dudley said absently, "kind of."

"Hers are brighter," Harry agreed with a nod. "They look-" _warm, happy, alive, they're glowing, laughing and singing,_ "like glitter." _They look like what makes things grow. Whatever it is that makes plants happy and full and keeps them alive through the winter, that's what's glowing in her._ He looked to his fingers, wondering if the same thing might live in him.

"Sparklier," Dudley offered. He idly flipped a page.

Petunia made a strangled humming noise in the back of her throat, half agreement and half protest. "Well. Aren't you going to open that, Harry?"

He looked at her blankly, having completely forgotten the gift he was holding.

She gestured towards the box in his hands, eager to have the morning move on from Lily's _sparkly_ eyes.

Harry looked down to the package and blinked in surprise to see it. "Oh." He nodded to himself and started peeling the wrapping off, smiling when he saw a coloring book like what he'd gotten earlier, only with fish on the cover. Colorful fish, like he'd never seen before. He did have to grin at the big-eyed orange and white one, feeling himself become a little more grounded to the kitchen again, instead of wherever his mother had been in all those pictures, wherever she was _now_. "Thank you," he said to his aunt and uncle in turn.

"Quite welcome," Vernon said as he finished his breakfast. Harry's display of emotion over seeing his mother's photos, as uncomfortable as it was to watch, only reaffirmed that he and his Pet were right to be starting over. There were so many simple things the boy hadn't had and he couldn't help but to think that perhaps his nephew would be more normal if those places in his life were filled.

"Good," Dudley approved, "all the little stuff's gone. Now get to a big one," he directed half-absently, still looking through Harry's album.

Still euphoric over his mother's pictures, the three large gifts left in the center of the table would have held little appeal to Harry if not for the unlimited possibility of what they might hold. If he could find his mother's smile in a small wrapped box, Harry had to admit that there wasn't much a present couldn't hold. Dudley's addiction to the mystery was now completely understandable to him. What could be more interesting? So long as the boxes stayed wrapped, they could hold anything, which meant that they held _everything,_ until they were opened.

As many mysteries as Harry still had to solve, from growing wings to finding monsters, it was a relief to have a secret he could learn just as soon as he wanted to. He reached over to the big box in the middle and his Uncle Vernon lifted it up and handed it to him, so that he could hold it in his lap instead of having to lean over his breakfast and pull at it. The box was wrapped in the blue paper with confetti printed on it, topped with a red bow. Harry shifted it in his hands curiously, surprised at how light it was. He wondered how much pictures of his father should weigh.

Dudley had looked up from the pictures of his aunt to watch, and now he felt his excitement creep back up. Big boxes were always good. "Open it already!"

Harry smiled a little. Now that he understood his cousin's enthusiasm, he felt like they were sharing the odd morning, just as he'd gotten used to sharing the 'normal' ones. Shaking the box once more and still getting no sound from it, he followed Dudley's wishes and tore into the package. Beneath the wrapping was a plain white box and he lifted the lid excitedly. After seeing what was inside, he blinked, intrigued and bewildered.

"What is it?" Dudley demanded.

"A bubble," Harry said with his head quirked to the side as he examined the gift. "It's a great big bubble," he confirmed happily. "It's really pretty." He turned to his Aunt Tuna and Uncle Vernon and added, "Thanks!"

"Hem," Petunia coughed with a distraught look on her face.

"It isn't a bubble," Vernon corrected without the least hint of displeasure in his nephew's supposition that it was. "It's a ball. Though you should still be careful not to pop it."

Dudley stood up from his chair and took the ball from the box. Harry discarded the box to the floor and held his hands out so that he and his cousin were holding the toy between them. It was rather large and perfectly clear, with the inside filled up with white glitter and shiny rainbow confetti. They turned it between their hands to watch the light catch the filling.

"It's huge," Dudley commented in an impressed tone. It was larger than all of the balls he had, except for his giant red one.

"It's _beautiful,"_ Harry praised the ball in an awed tone.

Petunia smirked. Vernon might have thought it looked girly, but the boy was an Evans, and Evanses _appreciated_ beauty.

"Thank you!" Harry said with a grin as he looked between his aunt and uncle. Surprisingly, his Aunt Tuna actually smiled at him.

"Just two more," Vernon said as he held out a large box wrapped in the cream paper, topped with a blue bow.

Harry reluctantly set his ball back down in the open box on the kitchen floor and then eagerly accepted the next little mystery. It was heavier than the last, though still light enough that he could hold it up easily. He shook it and felt the weight shift from side to side with a slight shuffling noise. He closed his eyes and listened closely this time, not wanting to waste the value of the secret by not even guessing at it.

Dudley's toe tapping against the floor was a little distracting, but Harry ignored it with a smile.

_It sounds like it's bigger at the bottom than the top. A plant?_ He started shifting it more gently at the thought. _C'mon, tell me what you are. A cat? A lamp?_ He pressed his ear to the side of the package and paid close attention. Breathing deeply, in case it was something he could smell from the outside, he imagined that it might be a small fellow monster in the box, brought home for him to make friends with.

"Just open it already!" Dudley snapped when his patience ran out.

Gamely pulling away, Harry started tearing the wrapping off, revealing a plain yellow box. Getting the wrapping down halfway, he carefully pulled the top off from the box and peered inside. He saw brown fur, and for a moment he thought his aunt and uncle had brought him a monster after all. Reaching in, he felt how soft the fur was and petted at it cautiously, realizing that it wasn't moving at all and so probably wasn't anything live. He stretched both arms into the box and lifted out a plush bear, meeting its golden eyes and smiling at it. Vernon took the box away and Harry sat the bear in his lap, gently running his left hand over the smooth red ribbon which was tied around the bear's neck. It was large enough that the top of its head was even with the base of Harry's neck.

Dudley rolled his eyes. He should have known that for the first time Harry was celebrating his birthday, he'd be getting baby gifts. What was even worse was that it looked like he'd zoned out again - over a teddy bear! He bit back from poking fun at Harry, remembering that everyone was supposed to be nice to a person on their birthday. At least Harry was smiling, so he probably wasn't about to start crying again.

Holding the bear more closely, Harry found it to be softly squeezable beneath all of that wonderful-feeling fur. He petted at it a moment more before smiling up at his family. "Thank you," he said for what felt like the umpteenth time, and he'd be glad to keep saying it.

Vernon held back from saying anything about how all children should have teddy bears, as it begged the question of why Harry hadn't had one before.

Petunia reached for the last box and placed it in front of Harry on the table. After doing so, she blinked in surprise and lifted the box to double check that she hadn't just dropped it onto a plate of food. "Where did your plate go?" she asked in bewilderment. She'd been watching her nephew since he came in and she hadn't seen him move his food away.

"He wasn't eating it anyway," Dudley said carelessly.

She looked over to her son's place and sure enough, one dish had been shoved to the side for another. Frowning slightly, she shook her head. "I suppose it was getting cold in any case," she muttered to herself. Turning back to Harry, she added, "I'll fix you up something else in a bit."

The sincere smile and thanks she got in return were expected by that point.

Gently setting his bear down on the table beside his last gift, Harry's curiosity turned most of his attention to the box. This was his last birthday present, for the day and maybe forever, too. He stroked the paper briefly and then went to pick the box up and shake it when his Uncle Vernon placed a hand on his shoulder.

"That one's a bit heavy," his uncle warned.

Biting his lip, Harry nodded and decided to forget about trying to shake it. Instead he went about slowly prying the paper off, at the edges and in strips, making it last as long as he could without giving Dudley a fit. When he got down to a white box with gold lines running over it, he felt the excitement mounting and he carefully lifted the lid on the box of anything. Looking inside, he saw something puffy and blue and he removed the lid entirely so that he had more light for figuring out what he was looking at.

He gasped in surprise when he saw what it was. He hadn't even known to imagine he could find it in a box. "It's the _sky!"_ he exclaimed reverently.

"It's a _blanket,"_ Petunia tersely corrected.

"But it looks just like the sky," Vernon interceded. "You're right Harry, those are supposed to be clouds. Good boy." He moved to stand beside his Pet and pat her hand as her color began edging towards the darker shades of pink. Really, Harry might say odd things but at least _this_ was understandable. It was Vernon's idea that their nephew might be less inclined to sky-dive out from windows if he had a bit of sky right there on his bed. His Pet just didn't want Harry thinking off the ground thoughts.

"Thank you!" Harry said as he bounced in place. He picked his bear back up so that the two of them could peer down into the bit of boxed sky together.

"Can we go in Harry's room now?" Dudley piped in.

Vernon nodded, glad for the distraction. "Yes, yes, may as well." He picked the boxed blanket up off from the table and started towards the doorway. "Come on," he encouraged Harry, whose eyes were following the box anyway.

Harry nodded and began trailing after his uncle, though he paused after a few steps and quickly went back to pick up his picture book from where Dudley had left it. Carrying his bear in one arm and his mother's pictures in the other, he followed his Uncle Vernon and the sky he was carrying up the stairs and to the last door in the hall, where his first room had been and his new room was now.

Vernon reached a hand out and turned the doorknob, nudging the door to swing open. Standing back so that Harry could go in first, he waited with pride in his eyes at the work he'd done to make Harry's room nice - and more importantly, safe.

Harry walked in trustingly, forgetting his previous worries about being locked up in his new room. The world he'd woken up to, this day and even going back a fair number of other days, was simply too wonderful for something like that to happen. He looked the room over curiously, eyes eager to take in as much detail as he could. It resounded in him that all this was his, too, and he squeezed his bear a bit more, smiling dazedly.

Against the wall with the window was a bed about the same size as Dudley's, with a light wooden frame and a headboard and footboard which curled out and under at the ends. There were light blue sheets and pillows on the bed and a dark blue blanket draped over it. Next to the bed was a matching stand with a drawer on top and a door to a little cupboard beneath that. Set a few feet down from the stand was a dresser made from the same wood, with four wide drawers. There were heavy white curtains framing the window, with a white lace curtain set underneath them, making the sight of the bars a little less obvious. Sitting against the right-hand wall was a small desk and chair set with rounded edges, which matched the rest of the furniture in the room.

"Your clothes are already in the dresser," Vernon said as he came in. "But if you need something from a high drawer, ask your Aunt Petunia to help. _Don't_ try climbing it," he added in a half-nervous, half-stern fashion. The last thing he needed was for Harry to crush himself to death trying to get dressed in the morning.

Harry nodded. "I won't," he said in a spacey voice.

Vernon went ahead and spread Harry's sky blanket across the bed, nodding in satisfaction at the way it looked. He turned to his nephew and saw him pinching himself. _Bit of a delayed reaction, isn't that?_ "There's the closet behind you," he said as he pointed to the closed door in the corner, next to the open one leading to the hall. "Your schoolbag's in there on the floor." He went and opened the door and then pointed further up. "Do _not_ try to hang off from the bar. It'll fall down and knock you out or worse. Understood?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry answered obediently, because that was the correct answer to that question. 'Yes Uncle Vernon' or 'yes Aunt Tuna,' but always yes, or else. Not that Harry was able to put much thought into 'or elses' at the moment.

"Do you like the room then?" Petunia asked from the doorway in a slightly cool tone.

Glancing all over the room once more, Harry turned back to his Aunt Tuna and nodded over and over. "Yes, Aunt Tuna, it's- it's..." He trailed off and turned to his Uncle Vernon. "It's mine?" he asked, just to make _sure._

Coming over to him, Vernon clapped his hands over Harry's bony little shoulders and gave a firm nod. "The room and everything in it."

Harry trembled a bit before he caught himself and hugged his mother's pictures on top of his bear to still the shaking. The room wasn't as pretty as Aunt Marge's, but it did have a better feel to it, he thought. _His_ room and he'd be falling into the sky to sleep at night. It was unbelievable, but Harry had already been convinced for the day. If Aunt Tuna suddenly presented him with a pair of wings, he wouldn't doubt them.

"Well," Vernon said as he checked his watch, "I'd best be off." He ruffled Harry's hair. "Have a good birthday, Harry. I'll be - oh." His brows knitted and he awkwardly reached down to pat his nephew on the head; it was a bit challenging with the way his legs were being hugged.

Blushing, Harry pulled back from his grasp on his uncle; it hadn't been working well with his hands full anyway. He kept his eyes on the floor for a moment, reminding himself that the Dursleys didn't like it when he touched them and he ought to know better. His sense of gratitude won out quickly though and he looked up to meet his Uncle Vernon's eyes. "Thank you," he said, even more sincerely than he'd been saying all morning.

His Uncle Vernon crouched down and Harry gave a little squeak of surprise when he was pulled up into a hug. It didn't last long at all, but he did have time enough to goggle at how strange and nice it was before his uncle patted his back and pushed him away.

Chucking his nephew under the chin, Vernon told him, "You're very welcome." Then he stood up and went into the hall to kiss Petunia goodbye, leaving Harry standing in the middle of his new bedroom with his eyes bugged out.

Dudley sauntered in, checking out their new play space. He stopped next to his cousin, looking him up and down with mild interest. He figured Harry was just really surprised over everything, but that he may as well make sure. "Harry? You okay? Harry?"

"Huh muh."

"Good," Dudley said with a dismissive nod. "Let's go get that ball. It'll make a great UFO."

* * *

Harry spent most of the rest of the day sitting in the middle of his private piece of the sky, leafing through pictures of his mother and occasionally bouncing his glitter ball back to his cousin, who was staging a small war in the middle of the floor between aliens and knights. Every so often Dudley would coax Harry into playing, but it wasn't very long before Harry would go back to his pictures. Aunt Tuna had said to call it an album, not a book, but as Dudley was sometimes distracted from alien warfare by Harry's fascination with 'Aunt Lily,' and Harry sat talking with his cousin about different pictures, they were both calling it the Lily Book by the time Uncle Vernon got home.

Aunt Tuna called for them and Harry set his Lily Book down on the stand beside his bed, taking his bear with him as he walked around the pile of toys in the middle of his floor to follow after Dudley. Dudley had been moaning about wanting cake all day and he'd already run ahead, eager to get to the kitchen. When Harry walked in he saw his uncle first, and smiled up at him happily before looking around for the cake Dudley had been drooling over for hours. He hoped there was something left to it, after Dudley's head start.

The table was set for tea, with two big glasses of milk next to Harry and Dudley's places. Aunt Tuna turned from the counter, where Dudley had been all but bouncing next to her, and she presented Harry's cake with the smug look that a job well-done always gave her. She set it down on the table and Harry went over to see it, eyes widening at how nice it looked. It was a round white cake with a green line of icing around the edge and blue swirls in the middle. When he got closer he saw that they were letters.

"Can you read it?" Petunia asked out of curiosity.

Harry kneeled up on his chair and looked at it closely. He knew most of the letters and he could guess well enough from what sounds they made - and what occasion it was. "Happy Birthday Harry," he proudly read, and then grinned at her. "Thank you, Aunt Tuna."

"Very good," she said in a slightly wry tone. Her lips quirked into a small crooked smile as she ruefully thought to herself that she was still a fish for _this_ birthday. _Perhaps next year. Oh, please, before next year..._ She smoothed her expression and met Vernon's gaze expectantly, and they both began to sing, _"Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you..."_

"Happy Birthday dear Harry," Dudley joined in without actually singing.

_"Happy Birthday to you,"_ the Dursleys sang.

Harry basked, smiling quietly as a warm flutter swept through him.

Aunt Tuna cut the cake and Uncle Vernon helped her serve it up by fetching the Rocky Road from the freezer and scooping out generous helpings to sit beside each slice. Harry was given the first piece, and he kicked his feet beneath the table, nearly too impatient to wait for everyone to have their slice. Dudley went ahead and dug in as soon as he was served, but Harry had learned a long time ago not to copy his manners from his cousin. When his aunt and uncle were both seated with their plates, he started in on his cake and moaned in appreciation of the first bite. It was a vanilla frosted, rich chocolate cake and the slowly melting ice cream had made it extra soft and sweet.

Neither boy knew anything was missing, though Dudley might have suggested more presents. Petunia had explained to her son years before that the reason his birthday cakes didn't have any candles on top like what he'd seen on television was that they ruined the taste of the cake, and he wasn't going to argue with that. Besides, they were 'terribly dangerous' and things could catch fire - important things like presents.

The Dursleys just didn't believe in birthday wishes.

More truthfully, Petunia was terrified of them.


	14. Fireflies

**Everyone,** thank you for reading this story. I truly enjoy being able to share it with you. **People who've added this to C2s or their Favorites list,** thank you for helping me share this with others. **Reviewers,** you keep me from smacking my head against the desk and muttering that none of this is any good. Considering how many reviews this has been getting, I think it may be best if I start replying through ffn's reply system, rather than bog down the start of every chapter with a wall of replies which are sometimes cut shorter than I'd like. If this is problematic for anyone, please just say so and I'll make a note of it.

* * *

Chapter 14: Fireflies

Sitting upon his blanket of sky, Harry absently chewed on his fingers as he contemplated his Lily Book. His mummy had been a beautiful and colorful little girl, and he couldn't be more grateful for the pictures his aunt and uncle had given to him on his birthday. The only trouble was that every time he looked through the book, he found a new mystery he wanted to solve. He would stare into a picture, waiting for it to give him just a little something more, before becoming restless and asking the only other carrier of these mysteries who he could talk to.

His Aunt Tuna, as nice as she sometimes was now, would probably never be friendly over questions. She hated them and the more Harry asked her, the more upset she'd get. He had years of experience with this, but when it came to anything about his parents, she was ten times worse. Harry was trying to keep his questions in for as long as he could, so that she wouldn't get too mad about hearing a ton of them at once. He'd asked a few questions a day at first, until she'd started snapping and hissing at him like a scared cat. Now he delayed his investigations, spreading the questions out to one a day, at most.

Still, he had managed to gain a wealth of knowledge.

Aunt Tuna and his mummy hadn't grown up in the house Harry lived in now, or even in the same town. They'd lived in a town called Crystal Waters, and his Aunt Tuna's face had twisted with disgust as she'd said the name. Their house had been nice, though not as big as Number Four. Harry knew that the yard that went with the house had been huge, since a lot of the outdoor pictures were taken there. There was a park nearby, too, and a river somewhere, that the town had been named after.

Information on his grandparents was harder to come by. After seeing them in his book, he recognized their pictures on the mantel in the living room, and wondered why he'd never asked more about them. His grandmother's name was Rose. She was a florist, which had nothing to do with floors; it meant she'd had a shop that sold flowers. Harry's grandfather's name was Matthew. He was a good man, and that was all Aunt Tuna had to say.

The only other thing he'd been able to learn about his grandparents, after waiting a couple days and recruiting Dudley for help, was that their grandfather had died before they were born but their grandmother had loved both of them very much. Dudley had been a little disappointed with the brief answer they'd gotten before his mother had started talking loudly about dinner burning. Harry, who had spent some time wondering if anyone had ever loved him, was far more satisfied with hearing that his grandmother had.

There were two pictures of his mother apparently in tights and a bathing suit. After showing them to his aunt, he learned that his mummy had taken ballet classes when she was little, for a couple years. When Harry asked, he found that he was right about the sulky pout on the girl's face; even though she looked pretty and the girls around her in one of the pictures were smiling, she'd been unhappy about taking classes. 'Too much order,' Aunt Tuna had told him in an exasperated tone, and then she'd shaken her head and walked away from him. A few days later, Harry had carefully coaxed the names of the other girls from his aunt's memory, repeating them to himself until he could easily match them to their faces.

The blonde girl named Abigail appeared in one other picture, sporting pigtails and a silly grin as she stood with her arm draped around his mummy. Theresa, a girl with brown hair and bright blue eyes, appeared in one more picture, sitting beside his mummy in a pile of leaves, the two girls smiling with leaves in their hair. The third girl in the group photo of little ballerinas was Chelsea, who had dark hair and deep brown eyes, and Harry couldn't find her anywhere else in the book. The only other girl in the book was his Aunt Tuna, who was tall, slim and serious even as a child.

There was only one boy, but he was pictured more times than his mummy's other friends were. When Harry asked, he learned it was because the boy had been her _best_ friend. Aunt Tuna said she couldn't remember his name, but from the way she'd sneered at the boy's image, Harry doubted that was true. Even if she hadn't disliked him, the boy looked pretty memorable to Harry. He had a nose like a bird's beak, long black hair and clothes that hung off from him, like Harry's secondhand ones had. It was hard to tell, but the boy's eyes were so dark Harry thought they might be black. He was in three pictures and in two of them, his mummy was smiling warmly at the boy. Clearly, Lily Potter had loved mysteries as well.

Harry's current predicament was over the third picture of his mummy and her best friend. They were standing outside, in what Harry recognized as the backyard behind his grandparents' house in Crystal Waters. It was late evening, with the sky darkening behind them, and they were both facing the camera, smiling proudly as they held up jars that had specks of light in them. It was a small mystery, but his mummy and the boy seemed awfully glad to be in on the secret of it.

He chewed a hangnail as he looked at the picture. He'd seen lights like that before, sparkling outside at night, but talking to his aunt or uncle about seeing lights outside that didn't come from houses only made them edgy.

He could show his aunt the picture, so she'd know what he was talking about.

She _might_ answer.

Except that Harry had just bothered her that morning, asking if she'd remembered the boy's name yet.

"Oopth," he lamented around his fingertips, thinking that there was no way she'd stopped fuming already. He lay down on his stomach and continued staring into the picture, trying to get the answers he wanted from the image of the mystery.

* * *

Petunia was still reluctant to admit it, but Harry wasn't all that hard to stand. The boy was easily satisfied and normally polite, aside from his insistence on calling her a fish. His bright green eyes were less of a lance to her after she'd gotten some practice at looking into them. He was so much like Lily, but the ache of it was dulling to the point where she could almost take pleasure in the fact. Once upon a time, she and Lily had cherished one another, and no matter how badly her sister had turned out, Petunia still loved the girl she'd once been.

The only real trouble was the boy's questions. The pictures of his mother had led to Harry asking what seemed like a barrage of questions everyday since his birthday, two and a half weeks before.

The first thing Harry had asked was whether she had any pictures of his father. She had told him no, and it was the truth. That had been the only question she'd felt prepared for, as she hadn't expected a torrent of random inquiries to start following her throughout the days.

_"Where did you live?" Harry asked as he looked up from a picture of his mother and aunt in their kitchen, comparing it to the one he was standing in. "Here?"_

_"No. We lived in a town called Crystal Waters." A country town set next to a filthy river. _

Petunia brought a hand to her temple and tried to ward off a familiar headache. Everyday now, she was forced to recall the things she'd rather forget. Her fresh start in Little Whinging had once felt so liberating...

Shaking her head, Petunia stood at the bottom of the stairs to call her nephew for lunch. "Harry! Lunch!" She waited a moment and then yelled again, "Harry!"

"Mummy," Dudley complained from the living room, "I can't hear!" He was scowling at the television and leaning forward with the remote, beginning to blast the volume so that he could better hear his program.

"Not so loud, Diddydums," Petunia scolded, and then she went up the stairs to fetch Harry in person, so that she wouldn't be bothering her dumpling.

She came to her nephew's door and opened it without knocking, seeing no reason to warn him to hide whatever mischief he might be up to. He was asleep on his bed, lying down on his stomach on top of the blankets, with his feet on his pillow and his head pressed against the open pages of his photo album. He looked ridiculous, which in Petunia's vernacular could be translated to deeply unamusing. Taking a moment to observe the boy, she noted that he was far less objectionable with his eyes and mouth shut. Were he not rubbing his smelly socks against the clean pillowcase and drooling onto the plastic sleeve of an album page, she could almost see him as a simple, sweetly sleeping child.

Of course, she knew better. Petunia went over to wake the sleeping terror, curiously eyeing the edges of the pictures Harry had fallen asleep to. She shook his shoulder and he moaned quietly, curling in on himself before twitching and opening his eyes.

"Aun' Tuna?" he asked as he looked up at her with his glasses askew.

"It's time for lunch," she told him crisply, watching as he pushed himself up onto his elbows, revealing the photos that had been covered by his face. _Ah,_ she thought in disgust, _him again._ Harry was most annoyingly persistent in his questions about that boy. She knew now that she should have lied the first time Harry had asked who he was, instead of offering the brief but honest answer that he was Lily's best friend. Of course her troublesome nephew wouldn't be satisfied to leave it at that. Even without a name, Harry's curiosity was sparked.

He straightened his glasses and looked between her and the album, quickly finding his resolve. He held his Lily Book up expectantly. "Aunt Tuna," he began.

"No," she interrupted, "I don't remember his name."

Harry's nose scrunched up. "I wasn't gonna ask that," he denied. "I wanted to know about _this,"_ he said with more energy, thrusting the Lily Book up and pointing to the middle of the picture on the right page.

Petunia looked at him skeptically, and then examined the picture more closely. The two children displayed their mason jars with looks of triumph. "Fireflies," she said in confusion. Looking to Harry's face, which was rapt in excitement, she understood that this was the information he'd been questing for. She sighed, relieved and exasperated at once. _Bugs,_ she thought, _the boy just wants to know about bugs. How...normal._ She snorted and shook her head, handing the album back.

"They're just little bugs that light up," she explained easily.

Harry frowned. "You _knew_ about this?"

"Of course," she snipped. He drew back and tilted his head to the side, and she waved a hand in the air as though she could brush away her frustrations. It was much better to discuss insects than her childhood. "They're easy to catch at night. Some people keep them in jars for a short while. They are rather interesting to look at," she distantly recalled.

"I can catch them?" he asked eagerly.

She pursed her lips. "I suppose," she allowed after a moment.

His eyes lit up. "Where do they live?"

"Outdoors. In the trees, bushes and grass. It's still the right season, we could probably find some in the park..." She trailed off in thought, wondering if Dudley would enjoy an outing like that.

* * *

"No way."

"Oh, come on," Harry whined. "We have to go! Please!"

"I don't have to go anywhere," Dudley argued. He wasn't going to give up the evening movie to go chase bugs with his nutcase cousin.

"But she said we could only go tonight if you wanted to, too! Please, Dudley, I really want to see some. I've never seen them up close before. Aunt Tuna wouldn't even admit they were _there_ before!"

Dudley scowled, completely unsympathetic. "They're on the telly all the time. I've _told_ you to watch it more."

Harry stamped his foot lightly in frustration, a habit he'd picked up from Dudley. "Telly isn't the same as real life," he said angrily. He couldn't see why Dudley didn't get that. He couldn't pet the bears in the electric box, could he? Couldn't smell the flowers or get answers to any questions he asked, either. It was useless.

"You sound like Daddy," Dudley said accusingly. He hated hearing any mention of 'real life.'

That startled Harry, but then he lifted his chin up and crossed his arms. "Well, he's right! You'll never learn anything like this."

"Good. I don't _want_ to learn anything." He turned back to the screen, ignoring Harry.

Harry stood there scowling, just simmering for a moment. Then he realized that he was acting like Dudley would, which was no way to win against him at all. Imitating his cousin was always more likely to cause trouble than fix it. The things Dudley did to get his way just didn't work out the same when Harry tried them, and they never had. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down, mind working to find a better strategy.

Dudley pouted at the television, wondering how he'd gotten stuck with a cousin like Harry. The telly had so much more than anything they could find outside, and they didn't have to go anywhere or do anything to see it all. He couldn't understand why Harry didn't get that. The dogs down the street didn't have any funny adventures, or even wear clothes. The neighbors probably weren't aliens, or spies or superheroes. The really great things in the world were only on television.

Sitting down on the couch beside him, Harry spoke quietly. "Aren't you even a little interested?"

"No," Dudley answered flatly.

"But what makes them glow?"

He shrugged. "I dunno," he said carelessly.

"Where do they come from?"

Dudley turned and looked at him funny. "They're bugs. They come from dirt and stuff."

"I think they're aliens," Harry ventured, and raised his chin up in defiance of any denials.

"Aliens?" Dudley scrutinized his cousin's face, and then shook his head. "No, you don't. You're a crummy liar," he mocked.

"But they could be," Harry persisted, sure that he was taking the right tack. "They could be sent here by them, to spy on earth. And they're everywhere and everyone just thinks they're bugs but they're not. They're from space."

"They are not," he dismissed lazily, but inside his cogs were working. They _could_ be. What Harry said sounded like some of the weirder shows he'd seen. "What do you want to see them for, anyway?"

"Because! Because they're different and I've never seen one up close before. And maybe..." Harry trailed off, not about to mention learning again. Learning about them, learning to be like them, finding out what sounds they made and whether he could make them back. He thought it might be a good idea to never talk like that in front of Dudley again, if he wanted something from him.

Dudley screwed his face up. "You're such a freak. Don't you get it? We have to go to _school_ in a week." He turned around on the couch to sit face to face with Harry, determined to get this point across. "We're going to be stuck there for the rest of our lives," he said grimly. "We have to go there everyday, all day, for years and years until we're old. And you want to waste the time we have left, running around looking for bugs?"

"Fireflies," Harry corrected. "It isn't wasting time." He pointed to the television. _"This_ is wasting time."

He huffed. "You're a moron," he told him, and it was the least of what he wanted to say. Harry was just too weird. Why couldn't he be a normal kid?

Harry's face fell, and he went back to begging. "Please. We can do whatever you want, tomorrow."

This was an offer worth considering. Dudley mulled it over and then conceded. "Alright. We'll go to the park and play with your stupid bugs tonight."

Harry jumped up with a cry of joy and bounced on the couch once, before settling back down, afraid of what his aunt would say if she came in and caught him jumping on the furniture.

"But only if you do whatever I say for the rest of the week."

"What?" he asked in shock. "That's not the deal."

"Yes it is."

"No! It's just tomorrow."

Dudley shrugged. "Then I guess you don't really want to go, do you?"

He did. These things didn't just glow, they flew. They were little dancing fires, and what was more, his mummy had known about them. What if she'd spoken to them? What if they knew her, or could even fly up to see her in heaven? These fireflies were a clue towards seeing her again, and just maybe they could tell him the name of her friend, too.

"I'll do it."

Dudley frowned in confusion. "You will? Just like that?"

Harry nodded. "If that's the only way you'll go."

For a second, Dudley almost felt guilty. Then he grinned and nodded. "Awesome! I'm gonna make you watch the telly until you like it. All day, everyday. Then you'll be normal when we get to school!"

Harry grimaced. It sounded horrible, but he supposed it could be worse. _Well, it still might get worse. Just wait for it. He'll think of something rottener soon enough..._

* * *

Vernon was surprised to find that a family outing could be painless. He and his Pet were sitting on a park bench, peacefully enjoying the fresh evening air, while watching their boys chase small moving lights through the grass. Petunia made a humming noise and slipped her hand into his and Vernon upgraded the night from painless to pleasant. Harry and Dudley were far enough away, approaching the bushes at the end of the park, that if they were bickering with each other, Vernon couldn't hear it as anything but a muffled chatter on the wind. This was certainly a marked improvement over the usual 'family bonding' excursions.

* * *

"Don't step on them," Harry reminded his cousin for what might have been the hundredth time that night.

Dudley rolled his eyes but held back on his desire to just start outright stomping on every bug in sight. He'd already _nearly_ squished one, and Harry had screamed. "I'm _not,"_ he muttered in annoyance. It was hard not to though, since the little green lights were everywhere, and he could only see the bugs while they were lit up.

Harry ignored Dudley, his attention already diverted to the beautiful creature on his fingertip. Even surrounded by them, he was in awe. They looked a bit like beetles, but with tiny green light bulbs at the ends. "Hello," he greeted this one, as he'd greeted every other one, "I'm Harry, and this is Dudley."

Raising his mason jar to his mouth, Dudley told the three fireflies inside of it, "We want contact with the mothership!"

"Don't yell at them," Harry scolded.

Dudley glared. "They've got little ears. We _have_ to yell." He turned back to his jar. "Take me to your leader!" he bellowed into it.

It hadn't occurred to Harry that they might need to speak up for the fireflies to hear them. He was in the habit of speaking quietly, so that _people_ wouldn't hear him and get him in trouble. He leaned in closer towards the firefly and spoke as clearly as he could, a bit louder than usual. "Do you know Crystal Waters? Have you been there?" The bug lit up for a moment, then flitted off from his finger, landing in the grass. Harry watched it with a small frown. "What's that mean?"

"Means it's a dumb bug," Dudley explained in exasperation. "You're not gonna do this stuff at school, are you? Cause kids'll think you're weird, Harry."

"I don't care," Harry denied.

Dudley narrowed his eyes. "I'm not gonna be friends with you if people think you're weird." Then they'd start thinking Dudley was weird, too.

Rather than get upset, Harry looked surprised. "We're friends?" Some of the bugs he'd caught were climbing out from his jar, crawling over his hand, but he ignored them. For awhile now, he hadn't known what to call the change between him and Dudley. They got along, sometimes, and they played together a lot. Harry had more fun with his cousin now than he'd ever had without him. He would have thought calling them 'friends' would have been going a bit too far, though.

"Well," Dudley hedged, "yeah." He looked Harry over, with his rat nest hair, dorky clothes and bug-covered arms. "I guess."

Harry beamed. "Me too," he agreed, happy at the thought.

"But not if you act like a freak at school," Dudley amended.

"Oh." Harry looked to the amazing fireflies crawling over him, and wondered what it would be like to pass up investigating mysteries like them, just because they were at school. Wasn't the whole point of going to school that they would learn there? He didn't know if he could pass up an opportunity, just because now Dudley said they were friends. Dudley could always change his mind the next day, for some other reason that had nothing to do with anything Harry'd done.

"Boys!" Petunia called, and they pretended not to hear her as they looked to the flashing grass between them.

Harry began brushing the fireflies off from his arm and back into his jar, fumbling as most of them flew away. He bent to the ground, trying to scoop them up from the grass.

"Boys!" she called again, louder.

Carefully screwing the lid onto his mason jar, Harry saw Dudley about to do the same and warned, "Don't squish them."

Dudley sighed, but nodded and shook the jar to get the bugs down to the bottom before putting the lid on tight. Harry looked a little sick at seeing the bugs shaken. "They're _fine,"_ Dudley spat, getting frustrated over all the fuss. "They don't have feelings anyway, you know."

"They do too," Harry objected.

"They're _bugs,"_ Dudley emphasized, just in case Harry hadn't noticed.

Harry's shoulders slumped, disappointed with his cousin's attitude. These fireflies had their own lives, with business to see to, and secrets to keep. They were just as alive as he was - and maybe more so, since they were lit up like the stars in heaven. How could they _not_ have feelings? "They try to get away, don't they? If you scare them?"

"So?"

"So they wouldn't bother if they couldn't be hurt. Right?"

Dudley just scowled.

"Harry!" Uncle Vernon hollered. "Dudley! Time to go home!"

The boys finally turned to look, seeing Vernon and Petunia standing a bit away from the bench where they'd been sitting. They looked a little impatient, which Dudley didn't mind, but Harry started walking over, stepping around any patches of ground that were lighting up, and Dudley followed, stepping much less carefully.

Vernon smiled down on them good naturedly. "So then, how many have you got, eh?" he asked as he bent to see the jars.

Dudley thrust his jar out with his chin up, glad that he'd gotten more than his cousin, since he hadn't been fooling around as much with talking to the bugs.

Harry looked to his uncle with a pleased grin of his own, holding up the jar filled with beautiful lights. He had about seven, he thought.

Petunia gave a sad smile at the mirror of Lily and Severus.

* * *

"Lily Potter," Harry whispered into the holes in the lid of his jar, "she was 'bout my age, with red hair, and green eyes. They were like mine, but sparklier. Kinda like you."

The fireflies continued crawling about the sides of the jar, apparently ignoring him.

Harry sighed. They didn't make any noise, so this wasn't much better than talking to flowers. "And her friend was a little taller than her," he persisted, because persistence was everything. After he and Dudley had been sent to bed, Harry had started talking to the fireflies in earnest, spilling all of the details he was afraid to have Dudley repeat in front of his aunt. There was no way Aunt Tuna would approve of him talking to the fireflies about his parents, when she didn't like him talking to _her_ about them, and he wasn't really supposed to talk to bugs at all. Aunt Tuna didn't want him talking to anything that couldn't talk back right away, because she didn't understand that they _could_ talk back, after awhile.

He was starting to suspect that the trouble with fireflies, like the trouble with everyone else who wasn't human, was that they didn't speak the same language. With birds that was easy to get around, since they still spoke. Even cats would talk to him sometimes, meowing, purring and hissing. Fireflies seemed to only speak in flashes of light.

Leaning back against his pillows, Harry thought it over. After a moment's indecision, he reached over to set the jar down on his nightstand, and then watched the fireflies' flashing. Then he turned his bedside lamp on, waited a second, and turned it off again. He repeated this three times, copying the flashes he'd just seen from the fireflies.

Their lights went out, and he waited anxiously for their next signals.

* * *

Vernon was watching the late night news when the phone rang. His Pet answered it in the kitchen and he put it out of his mind.

Then Petunia's voice went shrill, carrying into the living room. "Electrical problem?"

* * *

Harry's gaze snapped up from the fireflies when he heard his door open.

Uncle Vernon was standing in his doorway, giving him a perplexed look. "What the devil are you doing, boy? That's _you,_ turning it on and off?"

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon," Harry offered without explanation, and turned the lamp back off again.

"What are you doing, playing with the lamp like that? It's not a toy!" Vernon came into the room, standing beside Harry's bed with his hands on his hips. "Mrs. McGillan just called, about the light going on and off. Thought there was a wiring problem."

"Sorry," Harry repeated. He hoped this didn't mean he'd have to move out of his new room.

"That sort of thing's serious," Uncle Vernon carried on. "A fire could start if there were an electrical short."

Harry squirmed down under the blankets, getting comfortable while he could. Uncle Vernon was just gaining steam, he could tell.

"You shouldn't be setting off false alarms like this. Haven't you ever heard of the boy who cried wolf? He got eaten in the end, you know! And do you know what would happen if Petunia and I learned to ignore things like this? You and Dudley and the whole house, with all of us in it, could burn to a crisp! All because you want to play games with the light! Doesn't that sound fair?"

"No, Uncle Vernon," Harry mumbled, subdued. He hadn't thought that turning the light on and off could start a fire. He didn't know what crying or wolves had to do with it, either, since he hadn't been crying and there weren't any wolves in his room.

Vernon sighed in exasperation. Sometimes he felt that the boy spoke an entirely different language. "We'll talk about this more in the morning. Go to bed," he instructed sternly.

Harry, who was already in bed, and had been for hours, cocked his head to the side in confusion. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," he said, as he knew he ought to.

"To _sleep,"_ Vernon clarified.

"Okay," Harry agreed.

His uncle huffed, then leaned over and drew the blankets up to Harry's chin, patting at them as though that would help to keep him in place. "Goodnight," Uncle Vernon said, and it sounded like an order.

"Night," Harry echoed, and watched as his uncle left the room, closing the door behind him. He listened to the heavy steps going down the hall, stopping after a few paces.

"Dudley," he heard his uncle sigh, "get back into bed. You should be sleeping by now."

"Is Harry in trouble?" Dudley asked in a bold voice.

Harry couldn't hear the answer, as they lowered their voices. All he could hear was their footsteps, shifting into the room beside his own, and the hum of their muffled words through the walls. He smacked his head back against his pillow and harrumphed. Of course he was in trouble - things hadn't changed that much. Though snuggling into his bed, he did have to admit that things had changed well enough.

He rolled over to face the glowing jar on his nightstand, rubbing his face against his sky blanket. The fireflies hadn't said anything he could understand, yet. He was still trying to work out what all their flashing was about, but just as he was patient in listening to the birds, he'd take his time in trying to decipher the difference between blink, blink, blink and blink, blink.

They were wonderful to look at, whatever they were saying. He supposed they might be saying that they wanted to come out from their jar, or that they thought he was an ugly, mean little monster for putting them in there. Maybe they really were talking about an alien mothership that they needed to report to. As he lay there with his eyes growing heavy, what mattered most to Harry was that they were incredible, with a sparkle that his mother had loved, which had perhaps rubbed off into her eyes.

He reached a hand out and traced lines in the air, connecting the dots of light. _Maybe it was the other way around, too,_ he thought sleepily. Maybe some of his mummy's sparkle had rubbed off onto the fireflies. Harry yawned and rolled over again, closing his eyes.

Before going to sleep, he went through his new routine. Since determining that there wasn't any piece of the monster girl he'd met while school shopping left in the bag she'd touched, he'd decided that the best way to find other monsters really was through asking the shadows. Unfortunately, after spending a lot of time with his backpack over his head, he'd concluded that the shadows inside the bag weren't a shortcut, even at night.

Harry reached out for the fluttery warmth which he was getting used to falling asleep with. _A flutter like a firefly's wings,_ he thought. _Warm like sunlight, warm like..._

His fire was wrapped around him again, as he swayed back and forth in the air. It was burning indoors this time, with the forest on the other side of a window. Howling came from the woods and the fire held him tighter, beginning to hum.

Looking up into the flames, Harry found himself checking for fireflies. A pretty burning green sparkle, which for some reason he thought he should be able to see hidden in his fire. He reached a hand up, watching it get swallowed up in the flames. "Mn," he heard himself protest, and the harder he looked, the more clearly he saw that he'd opened his eyes, interrupting his dream of the singing fire.

He saw his hand reaching out towards the jar of burning fireflies on his nightstand and he relaxed back against the pillows, blinking drowsily. His favorite type of dream had been cut short, but he found he wasn't upset. He still felt warm, and after a moment he registered that the gentle fluttering that came from shadow mysteries was covering his skin, reassuring him that monsters really were real and he wasn't just weird or crazy, like Dudley thought. A sense of peace came over him.

Though he started calling the flutter up at night because he wanted to know more about that girl, and any other monsters that might look like people, tonight he found himself distracted. He watched the play of light between the fingers of his outstretched hand and wondered more about the fireflies. What were they saying, where did they come from, how did they light up, like little dazzling stars? And oh, how he wished he could talk to them. If only he could light up, too.

He squinted his eyes so that the blinking lights became blurred around his hand, pretending that he could glow, too. Closing his eyes again, he thought of it as he would growing wings or stealing the warts from a toad. He pictured himself lighting up like a firefly, a cheery blinking green. There would be so much light it would just spill out from him, filling up all the shadows, like the sun.

When he opened his eyes, all he saw was the light from his mason jar.

Harry closed his eyes again in grief, letting his hand fall back to the bed. Still, he had the flutter around him, and it was difficult to despair when surrounded by his greatest hope. He wished he could see that, at least. Looking to his hand again, thinking he might see some trace of the invisible thing laying over his skin, he blinked once in shock, and then was afraid to close his eyes again.

His hand was glowing.

There was a soft white glow covering all of his skin, wherever he looked. It was moving slightly, in a calm ripple, matching the gentle fluttering Harry felt around him. As he stared at it, the light grew steadily brighter. He let out the breath he'd been holding, and then began panting slightly as he tried not to yell in excitement. It had worked! Finally, something had worked!

So he wasn't meant to be a toad, or a cat, or maybe not even a bird. What did it matter? He could learn to be like a firefly! They had wings!

When Harry's light grew to be as bright as his lamp, he startled slightly and pulled the blankets over his head. He didn't need Mrs. McGillan calling about the lights again.

He held his hands out in front of him in awe, somewhat stunned as he saw that the light continued to grow. _When will it stop?_ He wondered. Then he realized his problem. _What if it doesn't stop? What if it just gets brighter and brighter until I can't hide it anymore?_

According to Aunt Tuna and Uncle Vernon, little boys didn't grow wings, or tails, or sprout plants out of their ears or start singing like sparrows, no matter what. Harry probably wasn't supposed to start glowing, either. As he worried about it, he saw the flutter growing dimmer. He chewed on his glowing lip, trying to make a decision. Go to the Dursleys and show them that he could _too_ light up, or stay under his covers and keep it to himself?

If he went to them now, they couldn't argue that he wasn't glowing, because little boys don't glow, since he very clearly did. Aunt Tuna might even surprise him and say that it was normal, like she had with the fireflies that afternoon. This had come from a trick of the shadows though, something Harry had learned a long time ago that he should never try to talk about with his aunt and uncle. They didn't believe in things being there in the dark, and gone in the light. They didn't understand the secrets that were right in front of them, and this light, like the fluttery feeling, had definitely come from the same type of mystery the Dursleys didn't want to figure out.

_Maybe though,_ he thought as he eyed the swirls of light playing over his fingers, _maybe Dudley would understand?_

They were supposed to be friends now, but it was Harry's first friendship and he wasn't sure of just what it meant. Would Dudley keep his secrets? It just wasn't worth chancing tonight. For the moment, he'd found a new secret to keep to himself, the answer to a mystery he was only just starting to unravel. It was his most exciting find yet and he smiled to himself, savoring it.

He just hoped he stopped glowing before the sun came up. Peeking under the edge of the blankets, he saw that the fireflies had stopped flashing. Still, he went to work at trying to make his own light flash like theirs could. _Blink, blink, blink,_ he tried to tell the light around him. Looking into the white glow, he willed it as strongly as he knew how. _Blink, blink._


	15. Wishes Aren't Horses

AN: This was all written in the last two days and even though I've proofread it twice, I'm blurry vision tired. If _you_ see a typo, please let me know.

* * *

Chapter 15: Wishes Aren't Horses

Harry hurriedly stuffed Indiana into his backpack, resolved that if Dudley was going to take Sir Dudley to school, then Harry could bring his teddy bear, too.

"I feel sick," Dudley was whining in the hall. "I don't want to go."

"Oh, sweetums," Aunt Tuna cooed, sounding choked up.

Rolling his eyes, Harry slipped his school bag over his shoulders and went out to meet the procession at the top of the stairs. His aunt looked ready to cry, while Dudley was growing red in the face, about to start a tantrum.

"We can start tomorrow," Dudley insisted. "Why's it got to be today?"

"Now, now," Uncle Vernon rebuked, "you're a big boy and you've got to be brave."

Dudley scowled more fiercely than before.

Harry could almost feel sympathetic, except that he was just coming out from a week of doing whatever Dudley wanted, whenever he wanted it. If only it had been nothing but fetching snacks and forfeiting battles. He'd been made to watch so much television that he felt like his eyeballs were ready to fall out. The only good thing that had come out of their wasted week was an Indiana Jones marathon, which had left Harry admitting that there were _some_ merits to television.

He _wanted_ to go to school, where people would help him learn things. He couldn't really understand his cousin's plight, so all he had to offer was, "It won't be that bad, Dudley."

"Shows what you know," Dudley retorted in a scathing tone.

Aunt Tuna sighed, while Uncle Vernon checked his watch.

Harry took the easy road, silently slipping around his family and going downstairs to wait.

"Don't go outside without us," Vernon warned reflexively.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

It took another ten minutes, but Aunt Tuna finally coaxed Dudley into going to school, with the promise of an extra special dessert that night. She herded the boys outside and into the car, Uncle Vernon trailing behind. Dudley got in next to Harry, accidentally kicking his cousin's shin as hard as he could.

"Ow!" Harry screeched, and glared murder at Dudley.

"None of that," Vernon boomed as he got into the driver's seat. He shook his head as though tired of their antics, but then he turned to Petunia and winked as she got settled in the passenger's side. "And you're to be kind to each other in school, too," he told the boys in the rearview mirror, as he was pulling out of the driveway. "You're very lucky to be starting off together. Most of the children won't know anyone there."

"Yes," Petunia agreed, sounding stuffed up, "and Diddy dear, you'll know Piers, too. And I'm sure you'll make plenty of new friends." She broke off and sighed into her floral hankie. "Oh, my." Turning to look at them in the backseat, she began tearing up again. Dudley was wearing a lime green t-shirt with purple sweatpants, and Harry was wearing blue shorts and a yellow t-shirt with a teddy bear on the front, but Petunia still crooned, "You look so _grownup."_

"Did we get taller?" Harry asked curiously.

"No," Petunia bit out nasally, "no, you haven't." She turned back around in her seat, sending a little glare to her husband, who was the one who'd started Harry in on thinking that aging made you grow suddenly. Never mind that it was true.

"We don't have to go," Dudley sulked. "Mummy, why can't I just stay home with you?"

"Oh," Petunia moaned, and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief as she stared out the window to keep the boys from seeing her cry. She'd rather have them stay at home. Well, at least Dudley. Since the day her Diddydums was born, she'd rarely spent an hour outside of shouting distance. What if he needed her?

"Dudley, we've talked about this. Don't upset your mother," Vernon admonished. "It won't be as bad as you think, son. They'll have toys in the classroom, and you'll have stories and recess, on a real playground, everyday. You'll have lots of fun," he pronounced.

Harry believed him, but Dudley just crossed his arms and snarled at the trees the car was passing by.

"Here we are," Vernon said a few minutes later.

As they pulled up to the school, which was a great redbrick building, Harry's gaze swept over it rather hungrily. It was much bigger than he'd expected. With so much space, he imagined they probably kept all kinds of fantastic things inside. "Are there elephants?"

Petunia gasped.

"No," Vernon answered tactfully, "there aren't any animals allowed in school."

Dudley snorted. "So Harry can't come inside?"

"That's enough," Petunia scolded, before Vernon could. She looked at her son with a serious expression. "You should never talk about Harry like that at school. He's family." They didn't need anyone getting a reputation.

The boys, and Vernon, gawked at her.

She didn't waver. "I mean it, Duddud. I want you to promise me you won't speak that way in school."

He thought about it a moment. "If I don't promise, do I get to stay home?"

Vernon looked into the backseat with narrowed eyes. "Boy, promise your mother."

"I promise," Dudley said obediently, even though he was still considering whether or not to actually keep such a promise. Teasing Harry was half the fun he found in spending time with him.

Petunia nodded shakily and got out of the car. Vernon followed suit, going to stand beside his wife.

Harry and Dudley sat alone for a moment, and gave each other a look.

"That was," Harry began, but trailed off.

"Really, really weird," Dudley finished.

"Is she sick?" Harry wondered.

"Is she a pod person?" Dudley questioned.

"Boys!" Vernon called, looking into the car windows impatiently. "You can't stay in there forever!"

"Why _not?"_ Dudley whined, but he undid his seatbelt and got out of the car just the same.

Harry jumped out with far greater enthusiasm, looking towards the front doors and bouncing slightly. They crossed the parking lot in what felt like an age, entering the front room. He looked around, assessing the potted plants and painted concrete, but Vernon grabbed his hand and began dragging him before his eyes could have their fill. Then they went down a long, bare hallway dotted with doors, stopping at the second one on the right, where a grey-haired lady in a long blue dress was waiting to greet them with a smile.

"Mister Dursley, Mrs. Dursley," she said as she looked at the adults. Then she bent lower, towards Harry and Dudley's eye-levels, and asked, "And who do we have here? Wait, don't tell me. You," she said as she hovered an index finger around Dudley's face, "must be Harry. And that would make you," she said as she did the same to Harry, "Dudley." She grinned as though proud of herself.

Dudley was shaking his head over and over, horrified that someone could make such a mistake.

Harry gave the lady a hesitant smile. "No," he corrected, "I'm Harry. He's Dudley." That really should have been obvious, he thought. Harrys and Dudleys were completely different kinds of little boys.

"Ah," she said, as though this was a great piece of wisdom, "I see. Well then, Harry," she said to Harry, "Dudley," she said to Dudley, "I'm Miss Beckett, and I'll be your teacher for this year." She offered her hand to both of them, to shake. "I'm very happy to meet you," she told them.

"Your breath stinks," Dudley told her as he shook her hand.

The adults all winced.

"Duddy," Petunia hissed.

Miss Beckett gave a fake-looking smile. "Why don't you two go play with the other children, inside the classroom?"

Dudley looked to his mother uncertainly. "Are you going now?"

"Just in a minute, darling," Petunia admitted guiltily. She leaned down and hugged him, kissing his cheeks. "But you'll be fine. Mummy will see you after school. Mrs. Polkiss will pick you both up and bring you straight home. And you'll have so much fun, it'll be over before you know it."

'Over before you know it.' To Dudley, it sounded like she was trying to convince him to sit still so a crazy doctor could stick him with a shot.

"You'll both be fine," she affirmed again, patting at Harry's shoulder after she'd stood from her hug with Dudley.

"I'm sure they will be," Miss Beckett agreed.

"You boys be good," Vernon reminded them as they drifted into the classroom.

"Wow," Harry said appreciatively. There were colors and letters and numbers everywhere.

Dudley looked it over with a frown on his face. "You dope," he whispered to his cousin, "good thing you're stupid enough to be happy here. There's no television. We're stuck here for hours. This couldn't get worse."

"Hi, Dud," a skinny blonde boy said as he came up to them from the side.

"Piers," Dudley acknowledged.

Piers grinned at him, happy to see someone he already knew. "There's a sandbox here," he told Dudley. "It's really cool."

"Yeah?" Dudley asked without interest. "Where?"

"Over there," Piers said as he pointed to a cluster of children standing around something. "It's in the table."

Sandboxes were kind of stupid in Dudley's opinion, but if everyone else wanted something, he wanted to have it as well. He wandered over, intent on knocking the other children out of his way if they wouldn't let him play, too. Piers followed like a lost puppy, leaving Harry to stand alone in the middle of the room. Looking around, he wondered if he should try talking to someone in the cluster of girls surrounding a wooden playhouse, since the last girl he'd spoken to had turned out to be a monster.

Before he could decide which girl to go investigate, someone else who had just arrived came up behind him and said, "Hullo."

Harry turned and saw a boy who was taller than him, with messy brown hair and blue eyes. "Hi," Harry said with a smile, "I'm Harry, and this is..." he trailed off from his habitual introduction between himself, his cousin, and fireflies, since his cousin was nowhere to be found. It didn't occur to him to treat a person differently from a firefly. "Erm.."

"Oh," the boy said as he gave him a funny look. He examined the air next to Harry. "Hullo, Erm," he said to it.

"Huh?" Harry asked, looking between the air and the boy. Was there a monster there, which Harry couldn't see? He caught sight of Dudley then, worked into the front of the pack of six year olds gathered around the play table. "Oh! That's my cousin, Dudley, over there," he said as he pointed.

It took a moment, but then the other boy nodded. "Oh, right. Thought you meant an invisible friend. I'm Malcolm," he introduced himself, puffing his chest up a bit.

"Invisible friend?" Harry questioned, telling himself to be careful about poking shadow mysteries. Cats only take so much prodding before they scratch, after all.

"Yeah, ya know," Malcolm dismissed.

Harry did know, he just didn't know other people knew, besides monsters. _Another monster!_ He enthused to himself. He looked over his classmates in wonder. _And maybe more!_

Malcolm wandered over to the play table most of the boys were gathered around. Harry followed like a lost puppy.

* * *

School wasn't as bad as Dudley'd said, so far. They had played awhile, and tried to sing the alphabet, which only half the class knew. Then they practiced counting and adding pieces of fruit together. Harry thought it was fun, since he was answering questions correctly and the teacher kept saying 'right,' or 'good,' in her sing-song voice. Dudley thought it was absolute torture, and that learning about letters and numbers was what boring morning telly programs were for, which he'd gladly sit through in place of school.

After adding with the fruit, Miss Beckett let them all eat a piece, along with a tiny carton of milk to drink, as a snack. Malcolm, who'd decided to sit next to Harry in the big U of sixteen little desks in the middle of the classroom, asked to trade his orange for Harry's pear, and Harry gladly obliged, while looking for hidden meaning in his fellow monster's dislike of oranges. Were they bad for you? Did they keep away 'invisible friends?' He gave his orange a suspicious once-over before he ate it.

Then Miss Beckett had them all get up out of their chairs and stand inside the U of desks, where a colorful carpet covered in letters, numbers and funny marks took up most of the floor space. Harry went and stood next to Dudley, who was with Piers.

"Still having fun?" Dudley half-whispered. He left off the 'freak' he wanted to put at the end of the question, since he hadn't decided yet whether he should keep his promise to his mother about not badmouthing his cousin at school. As long as he could still call Harry names at home, it was a deal worth considering. Maybe Christmas would pay off more if he listened.

"Yes," Harry said, a bit rebelliously.

Dudley rolled his eyes, and held his tongue against calling Harry a weirdo.

Miss Beckett, who Dudley was now sure he hated, then proceeded to torture the class by teaching them the hokey pokey.

By pure accident, Dudley kicked and slapped a few people whilst shaking his hands and feet 'all around.'

Piers snickered while Harry and Miss Beckett gave him disapproving looks.

"Dudley, if you can't control yourself then you can't play, and you'll have to sit out at recess."

He would have asked if he couldn't just go home, but he didn't want anyone to think he was a baby.

Miss Beckett did let him play at recess though, feeling merciful after the peace of her lunch hour.

Finally, if only for forty minutes, they were free for awhile. Harry bounced up to him, smiling like an idiot. "Isn't this great?" he asked.

Dudley tried to say with his eyes everything he'd promised his mother he wouldn't say with his mouth.

Harry's smile wilted a little, before he scowled back. "Well, _I_ think it is."

"Well, you would."

Piers, who'd been standing at Dudley's side all day, snickered. "Weirdo," he taunted Harry.

Giving a real glare to Piers, Harry stalked off from them, running across the blacktop to the slide, where a line of children were waiting for their turn to go down it.

Although he'd thought it briefly before, for the first time Dudley considered the possibility that he didn't really like Piers Polkiss. He turned one of his fiercer snarls on the smaller boy, one he'd learned from the sort of violent movie his mother didn't like him to watch. He knew he'd gotten it right, when Piers backed up a step. "_Don't_ call Harry names. He's my _cousin_," he hissed, putting all of the protective possessiveness he'd gained over the summer into that one word.

"'Kay, Dudley, fine." Piers shrugged it off. "He's a baby anyway," he offered as an excuse.

Dudley raised his fist and took a menacing step towards him. "What'd I _say?"_

Piers raised his hands to ward him off. "Okay! Sorry!" He backed away, looking wary, then skittered off to the same place Harry'd gone.

* * *

"They're really great," Harry was telling the girl in front of him, "and they were _everywhere."_

Amanda made a face, disgusted at the thought of any kind of flies being _everywhere._ She shook her head, brown pigtails flying. "Ewww!"

Harry pouted. "But they're pretty," he argued. Girls were supposed to like pretty things, weren't they? "And there's nothing like them anywhere, that I've ever seen," he added, sure that really different things would appeal to others, as they did to him.

"I like them," said the girl in front of Amanda, trying to lend credit to Harry's claim that fireflies weren't disgusting.

"You're both gross," Amanda complained. "Stop _talking_ about it."

"Ow!" a girl cried out further back in the line, followed by a, "Hey!" from a boy. Harry looked behind himself to see Piers Polkiss cutting ahead in the line to the slide, shoving the other kids out of his way.

He stopped behind Harry, with a rattled expression on his face. "Your cousin's really scary," he told him.

"Yeah," Harry agreed neutrally, "I know." He shrugged; he supposed that was just the way Dudleys were built.

"Sorry," Piers said quietly, as they went up another step on the ladder to the top of the slide. "'Bout before."

Accustomed to being insulted, Harry didn't really mind enough to hold a grudge. "'S okay."

"Good," Piers said with a nod, glad Harry wouldn't go telling Dudley to beat him up for it.

Amanda went down the slide, quickly running off to find less revolting children. Harry slid down, and hurried to the back of the line again, where the orange-haired girl who liked fireflies had gone to wait for another turn.

"Hi, I'm Harry," he told her, as he had a number of children already. He left off the 'erm, and that's my cousin kicking down a sand castle, over there.'

"I'm Linda. Bugs really _aren't_ gross," she consoled him.

"Yeah," he agreed with an enthusiastic nod, "I keep telling my Aunt Tuna that."

"You've got an aunt named _Tuna?"_

He shrugged. "Don't ask _me_ why. She doesn't _look_ like a fish."

"That's so weird. But that's okay. I've got an aunt named Shelly, an' I guess she doesn't look like a shell, either."

* * *

Towards the end of the day, there were a few improvements Harry thought his school needed, like more bugs on the playground, more plants in the classroom, and it would be nice if Miss Beckett would work on that 'no elephants' rule. However, he was still enjoying himself a great deal, surrounded by lots of kids his age who weren't Dudley, and even a few monsters. Well, at least one monster. He didn't think the 'prison' Dudley had been so worried about could get any better.

Then they had story time. Harry spotted Malcolm sitting next to a round blond boy at the back of the colorful rug, and he went over to take the free spot on his right. Malcolm turned to the blond and elbowed him in the side, nodding at Harry. "Harry," he said, and then turned to Harry and elbowed him, too. He nodded towards the blond and said, "Gordon," finishing the introduction.

Harry grinned happily at the round boy. "Hi!"

Gordon just stared at him, and then looked to Malcolm, who shrugged.

Miss Beckett dragged her teacher's chair to the center of the U so that she was sitting in front of them, and she sat down with a book in her hands. "Alright everyone, settle down."

They quieted, and listened, or pretended to. As the story of Sleeping Beauty unfolded, Harry became more attentive than even Amanda, who was gazing at the cover's illustration of the prince and princess with a dreamy look on her face.

"...a frog told the Queen that one year from that day, she'd have a beautiful baby girl."

Harry had always known frogs could talk. He'd never heard them, but he'd _known_ they could.

"...they invited all of the fairies, who were wise and very kind to children."

Harry raised his hand to ask a question. He loved this new rule of only having to raise his hand to get a question answered.

Miss Beckett's eyebrows shot up in surprise when she noticed. "Yes, Harry?"

"What's a fairy?"

"It's a little person with wings," she answered easily. She could already tell that Harry Potter was the type to ask questions about everything. The inquisitive ones were both a blessing and a bother.

Harry's eyes bugged out, but Miss Beckett continued on with her story. A little person with wings. _He_ was a little person, and oh, how he longed for wings...

"...one fairy who they had forgotten to invite. An evil fairy, with a _fiery_ temper."

Harry raised his hand to ask how a person became a fairy, but Miss Beckett didn't seem to see him.

"...and she put a curse on the baby, saying that on her fifteenth birthday, she would prick her finger upon the needle of a spinning wheel, and die. Yes, Harry, what is it?"

"What's a curse?" Harry asked his new question, just as it popped into his head.

One of the boys said a word that Aunt Tuna claimed was naughty.

"Dennis!"

"He asked," Dennis defended.

"That is _not_ the same type of curse. Don't ever say that word again," she admonished in a scandalized tone. Turning to Harry, she patiently explained, "A curse is something that makes bad things happen." Then she went back to the book.

Harry tried to work on that. Was Dudley a curse, because sometimes he made bad things happen? Was Harry a curse? Actually, he thought his Aunt Tuna had called him that at least once.

"...all the spinning wheels in the kingdom were burned. Yes, Harry?"

Amanda turned and glared at the awful bug boy who was ruining the story.

"How do you become a fairy?" he asked.

Dennis snorted.

Miss Beckett was unphased. "Well, you can't. Fairies are born fairies. There's no way to become one." Then she picked up where she'd left off, again.

Harry slumped in disappointment.

"...the curse's spell fell over the castle, and the princess, and the King and the Queen, and all of their courtiers, and all of their servants, and the dogs, and the horses in their stables, and the flies on the walls, all slipped into an enchanted sleep. The fires all fizzled out in their hearths and the meat cooking on the stoves no longer sizzled. Yes, Harry?"

"What's a curse's spell?"

Miss Beckett resigned herself to a long year.

* * *

Petunia stood at her living room window, peering through the curtains for the sight of the green station wagon Mrs. Polkiss drove. She'd feel better having Vernon drive the boys, but wishes weren't horses. When the car finally pulled up to the curb, she breathed a sigh of relief and hurried out the door. Harry and Dudley got out of the car and quickly trotted up to her, looking as though they'd survived the hours apart better than she had. She waved to Mrs. Polkiss and then turned to the boys, sighing again as she assessed that they'd been returned in the same shape she'd left them.

Running a hand through her Dinkykins' hair, she asked, "Did you have a fun day at school?"

"No," Dudley denied, crossing his arms. "And I want my double fudge sundae. _Now._ You _promised."_

"Of course, Duddy Dumpling," Petunia said, dismayed that her baby had felt tortured the whole school day long. "You might like school better tomorrow," she offered with a wavering smile.

"No, I won't," Dudley contradicted, and he sounded committed to it.

Petunia wilted. "I'm sorry, darling." She looked to Harry, who was eyeing his cousin sadly. "What about you, Harry?" Ushering the boys inside, so she could get started on the sundaes, she asked, "Did you have any fun?"

"Oh. Yeah," he admitted guiltily, "I did."

"Good," she said distractedly, glad it wasn't a total loss for both of them. "Did either of you make any friends?"

Dudley shrugged.

Harry was more forthcoming. "I did! I think I did," he amended. He hadn't actually agreed to be friends with anyone, as he had with Dudley. "There's Malcolm, and he's really neat, but he doesn't like oranges. Are oranges bad for you? And Linda, and she really likes bugs."

Petunia rolled her eyes. _A picky eater and a bug girl._ "Well, that's nice. Don't worry, Duddy, I'm sure you'll make some friends tomorrow. Did you learn anything?"

"No," Dudley said, rather proudly.

"Tons!" Harry enthused. "We tried the alphabet and I'm bad at it but not as bad as almost everyone else is and Miss Beckett says we'll all get it right soon. And we learned the hokey pokey! And we learned all the rules for class, like lining up and raising our hands..."

Petunia nodded along.

"...and then, after recess, we learned about magic!"

The ice cream carton slipped out of Petunia's hands, landing on the counter with a thump.

Harry carried on, oblivious. "She told us all about spells and curses and fairies and...Aunt Tuna? What's wrong?" he asked in a panicked tone, as he noticed her hands shaking.

"What did you say?" They'd planted one of their own, she thought. The filthy monsters were working around her, getting at her children where she couldn't see.

"I said we learned about magic," Harry repeated.

"Stupid," Dudley called him, relieved to be at home where he could say it again. "I've told you it's all on the telly, anyway."

Petunia looked to her child in horror.

"Well, _I've_ never seen anything about magic on the-"

"Stop saying that word," Petunia interjected in a thready whisper.

"What?" Harry asked in confusion.

_"I said stop it!"_ she suddenly screeched. "Don't you _dare_ say that in _my_ house, you _filthy..."_ Petunia suddenly lost the fire in her rant and ceased screaming at the wide-eyed boys. Shaking her head, she wound her fingers into her hair.

"Mummy?" Dudley asked, concerned as he watched her start to sway slightly.

"Mummy's thinking, baby," Petunia told him quietly. "Mummy's thinking."

Dudley added things up fairly quickly, without any numbers in his way. "Did Miss Beckett teach us a naughty word?"

"Yes," Petunia agreed, focusing on them again. "Yes, Duddy. She taught you a very bad word, a filthy, nasty word." She looked between her son and her nephew. "Neither of you are ever going to say it again," she told them fervently.

There was silence as both children hesitated to be the one who would have to prod her by asking.

"Say what?" Dudley ventured, taking pity on his cousin.

Her eyes flared, and Harry thought that even though they were the wrong color, there was some resemblance to his mother's sparkle there. "The M-Word," she intoned gravely.

"Miss?" Dudley asked.

"No," Petunia dismissed, "the _other_ M-Word."

Harry wasn't about to get screamed at again, so he didn't say it.

It took Dudley a second to think of another word they had used that started with 'M.' When he did, he guessed it out loud. "Magic?"

"Don't _say_ it," Petunia reprimanded sharply. "Dudley," she said seriously, "if you say it again you won't have another dessert until Christmas."

She meant it, and he believed it, shutting his mouth with a click of his teeth.

Petunia nodded. "You're never to talk about _any_ of that nonsense. Only gibbering idiots go around talking about fairies," she told them harshly. "Do you understand me?" She looked between them, eyes blazing fiercely. "I'm not raising _fools,"_ she scorned.

"Yes, Aunt Tuna," Harry said weakly. It was what he was supposed to say, and his throat was so tight that it was all he could manage. _Dursleys hate shadow tricks,_ he reminded himself. _Curses and spells aren't stuff you can see. If you can't see it, don't talk 'bout it._

"Yes, Mummy," Dudley said, worried that his mother had gone crazy. Threatening to take his desserts! For months! That wasn't the mother he knew at all.

"Good," Petunia said, cautiously relaxing, "good boys."

She and the children warily assessed each other, as though expecting an attack.

Petunia broke the silence, though she continued looking at the boys as though frightened. "Tell me...without saying...any of those words...what happened today at school?"

* * *

Vernon heard the yelling before he'd even parked the car.

_"...won't have you teaching my children to be heathens! It's blasphemous filth. They're good boys, I'm raising them to be good boys! How dare you interfere with that?"_

He hurried to the door, coming in to find Petunia on the phone in the hall, listening to the receiver with a grotesque grimace.

_"I'll sue you. I'll take you all to court. You've no right to do this to my family."_ She looked up and saw Vernon standing there, flashing him a desperate look before her face hardened again and she snarled into the phone, _"No, I'm not. I'll show you overreacting when I'm giving interviews to the press, telling them what you're doing!"_

A great many tragedies were running through Vernon's mind, as he wondered what could have happened to their children on their first day of school, to cause Petunia to react so violently.

_"They aren't just harmless stories! Not when my boys come home babbling inanities as though they were real! It's destroying their minds!"_

He breathed a sigh of relief. Ruined minds, he could handle, he thought.

* * *

Harry and Dudley sat half-heartedly playing with their toys in Harry's room, listening as the confusing arguments downstairs changed from Petunia screaming at the phone to Petunia shouting at her husband, as he tried to shush her.

_"And we're getting rid of that television!"_ they heard.

Dudley's jaw dropped open. "Oh, god." Looking sick, he sprang up from the floor and ran out from the room. "Oh, no you're _not!"_ he cried furiously, as he raced down the stairs to tell them off.

Closing his eyes, Harry wondered how things had gone so wrong, just because of the word 'magic.' It was an exciting word, describing everything he believed in. Tricks of the shadows, secrets kept by cats and birds and toads, monsters living in plain sight, without ever being seen... There were so many mysteries in the world, just beneath the surface of what the Dursleys said was there.

He had thought that if his teacher understood those things, the Dursleys might, too, if Harry called it by the right word. Now, he thought he should have known better.

_Spells, curses. Enchanted,_ which was such a pretty word for 'under a spell.' _Fairies,_ which he needed to find and investigate as soon as possible. _Magic._ Miss Beckett said magic meant all those things and more, everything wonderful or terrible that couldn't be explained. Harry clung to his new words stubbornly, whether his Aunt Tuna liked them or not.

Was the quick change in the Dursleys a spell, rather than angels or aliens? Was Aunt Tuna under a curse, that was making her act this way now? He looked to his hands, which had been holding secrets of their own lately. Had the fireflies enchanted him? There was a lot about the light he could make now that he couldn't explain.

Was he magic?


	16. Playing Swords

Chapter 16: Playing Swords

The Dursley adults resolved not to get rid of their television, on the grounds that a home without one would look strange. Worse than that, someone might assume they couldn't afford one. So Petunia agreed that the telly could stay, on the condition that the children were no longer allowed to watch it without supervision. Dudley had wailed and smashed a few picture frames from an end table, but in the end his parents threatened to cancel Christmas, which had stunned him enough that Harry was able to drag him away from the fight without a fuss.

"They're mad," Dudley had told his cousin as he was led up the stairs, on the verge of tears.

"It's alright," Harry said, patting at Dudley's hand and feeling useless. He couldn't really understand crying over telly-watching restrictions, but he knew Dudley was broken up about it, which was understanding enough.

Petunia had then gone on the warpath in their bedrooms, searching through Dudley's books and toys. She had always kept a strict watch over what her son played with, but she felt the need to make sure nothing had slipped by her. Dudley hadn't learned to read yet, and he was never interested in having his parents read to him, but he looked through the pictures in his books sometimes. Soon enough, he'd be able to sort out the words that went with the illustrations in such insidious tales as _James and the Giant Peach_ and _The Horse and His Boy_. Petunia was going to have to talk with Marge about what was and wasn't an appropriate gift for her son.

Harry and Dudley sat on the bed in Dudley's room, watching her sift through all the junk piles and then get down on the floor, running her hands under the furniture to find anything they might have hidden. They were both convinced she'd lost her mind.

When she stood up, clutching a few books, she gave the room a final sweep with her eyes. The boys were sitting with their toy armies gathered around them. Petunia speculatively eyed the dinosaurs and the white knights on Dudley's side, and King Kong, the aliens and the black knights on Harry's. The blue alien covered in tentacles was particularly concerning to her.

The boys quickly gathered their men behind them or into their laps, clutching at their favorites protectively. Harry looked shocked that she would threaten his all-powerful and terrifying Black Army, especially now that his big teddy bear Indiana was backing them up. Dudley, holding onto the white knight Sir Dudley and his brave stuffed lion Leopold, glared in rebellion.

"No," Dudley told her, "you're not taking them away!"

Petunia shook her head. "Duddy, dear," she tried.

_"No!"_ he yelled. "You shouldn't be taking _any_ of it away! It's all mine, not yours. And you shouldn't be taking the telly away, neither!"

"We're not," she told him. Vernon had convinced her rather quickly that it would be a mistake if they did. "Dinkykins, Mummy's only doing this for your own good."

"I hate you," Dudley professed.

Only Lily had broken her heart so fiercely. She shook her head numbly. "No, darling, you don't." Petunia had years of experience with mislabeling feelings as 'hate.' She'd 'hated' her sister, and sometimes 'hated' her own mother, throughout a generation of loving them against her will. "You're just mad, but Mummy forgives you," she told him. She left quickly, deciding to let the bizarre aliens be.

"I do hate her," Dudley told Harry, sounding vicious.

Harry just hugged Indiana, hoping the trouble in his family would go away soon.

* * *

As the school year carried on, the boys found themselves in a naturally evolved circle of friends, who were all far more supportive of Dudley than Harry could be. Everyone there was agreed that life without television was no life at all. Piers started inviting them to come over and watch the telly at his house. Even though Dudley still wasn't sure if he'd call Piers a 'friend,' he always accepted the offer right away. Dudley just wanted to get away from his suddenly insane parents, whether there was a telly on the other side of the fence or not.

Harry looked to Malcolm, and saw him nodding along to a rant of how important watching a certain show was. More and more, Harry was starting to doubt whether Malcolm really was a monster. He'd reached out, questioning the silent songs humming through the air around him, but he couldn't find any buzzing or murmurs lurking within the boy, as he had with that girl in London. She had been positively thrumming with what Harry now thought of as 'magic,' while Malcolm held about the same energy in him as what Harry could feel in the average rose bush. The boy was nice enough, but he'd lost that appeal of being one of Harry's own.

Questing for monsters this way, concentrating and trying to find what was living beneath the skin of someone, was giving him rather disappointing results. If monsters like him were supposed to feel like the girl in the department store, then Harry was starting to doubt that there were any in Little Whinging, besides himself. None of the people he searched over had anything close to the buzzing energy he was looking for, let alone the faint whispers from the shadows, which one could never quite hear properly.

He did find that they all felt differently, their secrets as different from each other as a cat's from a toad's.

Piers reminded Harry of the nervous hedge in Mr. Emerson's backyard, which knew both neighbors' secrets and more, but was too afraid of being cut back to talk about them. Harry wasn't sure how much good that information did him, since Piers acted in a completely different manner from the bush he felt like. Piers tended to flit from person to person like a dragonfly, hovering at a short distance, striking with an insult or comment, and then circling back to Dudley, Malcolm or Gordon, where he felt safe. Still, Harry found himself always looking for signs of that bush in him.

Linda felt a bit like a sparrow. She knew about fire ants, which weren't at all as fun as fireflies, and poison oak, and where mushrooms came from, but there wasn't anything _magic_ there. It was confusing for Harry, who thought that knowledge of such brilliant tricks, which weren't apparent to anyone just looking at a tiny, innocent bug or plant, was what brought about control of the secret's power. He'd always thought that if he could learn something well enough, he could make it a part of himself. If he could figure out how a bird was a bird, then why couldn't he be a bird, too?

Gordon spoke of something familiar that Harry couldn't name. It made him think of monsters, but he couldn't say why that was. He thought it might just be that he knew Gordon the least, since the other boy was quiet and a bit shy.

He'd felt out everyone else in the class, too, working through them week by week.

Amanda most reminded him of the big white flowers that grew in his front yard, which surprised him, since he liked those flowers a lot more than he liked her. When he'd asked, Aunt Tuna had told him they were 'Carnations.' Carnations, in Harry's experience, were friendly and open. Amanda seemed to hate everything that was interesting or beautiful in the world, like caterpillars and toads, and she always called Harry 'Bug Boy.' He might have liked the name better if she didn't say it with a nasty look on her face.

Dennis felt like the slobbering dog who lived in the Kleins' backyard. Silly and cranky did seem to describe the boy well, from what Harry'd seen so far. He liked to make jokes out of everything, which was nice, when he wasn't in the mood to be hurtful about it. He was what Miss Beckett called a smart aleck, and what Harry thought his Aunt Tuna would call a nasty little wretch, were she ever to meet him.

His teacher Miss Beckett felt like one of the sad-looking trees covered in peeling white bark. She'd given Harry and Dudley dirty looks after their first day of school, but had gradually warmed up to them again, as much as she had with any of the other students, at least. Story time was hardly ever about magic things any more, though she still slipped a 'fairy tale' in now and then, giving Harry and Dudley a haughty look as she read the titles. There was a new rule for the class, to never raise their hands during story time, unless it was an emergency.

* * *

Dudley got out of Mrs. Polkiss' car, saying goodbye to Piers. He was supposed to have another play date at their house the next day, but he wasn't really looking forward to it.

His mother was waiting to greet them, but Dudley quickly walked past her without a word. He'd hit the stairs by the time she was calling out to him.

"Duddy! Wait, Mummy's made cupcakes!" Petunia cried desperately. "Chocolate!"

Dudley almost turned around but resolved to wait until later. Even if he wanted to eat them, _she_ wanted him to eat them, too. They wouldn't taste right, knowing that. He wasn't going to forgive her for cupcakes, or any of the other stuff she pushed at him.

Harry stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking between his crestfallen Aunt Tuna and the upstairs, where he heard Dudley crashing into his room. His aunt had said a lot worse things to him before than just that she hated him, but he still felt bad for her. Harry couldn't remember ever expecting his Aunt Tuna to love him, while she certainly expected her son to love her. The trouble was, Dudley was Harry's friend, while Aunt Tuna wasn't.

He looked at her guiltily, averting his eyes when she met his gaze. "Sorry," he murmured, and then rushed up the stairs to join Dudley.

His cousin was kneeling at the window in his bedroom, looking out at the street with a sulky expression. Harry went over and copied his position, resting his elbows against the windowsill. They were quiet for a moment, as Dudley pitied himself and Harry calculated how to handle things.

"It's all Miss Beckett's fault," Dudley suddenly complained, as he sometimes would.

Harry frowned. Dudley had said before that he hated her, too. "Could be the telly's fault for talking about...the M-Word," Harry said cautiously.

Dudley snorted. "They talk about everything on the telly. Course they talk about...that"

They were both afraid that if they outright said "magic," Petunia would appear and descend upon them like a savage beast. They resisted the temptation to close the door, as they had learned over the past few weeks that doing so would be sending her an invitation to come eavesdrop outside of it.

Tapping the wood of the window frame, Harry gathered his nerve to have a talk he'd been considering for over two weeks. Magic. It was a burgeoning energy inside of him that he could sense the echoes of in all the world around him. Aunt Tuna might not be able to accept something from the shadows, but Dudley never seemed to care one way or the other. He'd been excited back when he thought Harry was an alien. "Do you think...it's..." he trailed off uncertainly.

Dudley looked at him. "What?" he asked with mild annoyance.

"Real." Harry finished, the questioning tone gone from his voice. He held Dudley's eyes, trying to convey his thoughts with his own. _Magic is real,_ he said silently, _it's real, Dudley, it's real!_

Dudley rolled his eyes, and then huffed a laugh. "You are such a dope."

Harry sighed. _Well, that didn't work out so great._ He looked over his shoulder, checking that Aunt Tuna wasn't standing there. Leaning over, he whispered, "What if it is, though? _Couldn't_ it be?"

"No, it _couldn't_ be," Dudley whispered back in a mockery of his cousin's earnest tone. "Everybody knows it isn't real. It's just made-up."

Harry glared a little. "So's aliens!"

"Nuh-uh," Dudley denied, "lots of people believe in aliens. People who _think_. But _nobody_ believes in ma...the M-Word," he finished, darting a resentful look to the doorway.

Sensing that this was his last moment to back out on his decision, Harry questioned himself once more on whether being able to conspire with Dudley was worth risking Aunt Tuna's wrath. Then he plunged. "I believe in it."

"Well, duh," Dudley said, looking at him like he was stupid. "That's kind of obvious, weirdo." With the way Harry hung on every word about magic that Miss Beckett would spare him, and got so excited about it all, his belief in the nonsense would have been hard to miss.

"Oh," Harry said, eyes wide. "But it's a secret," he protested.

"Yeah? Remind me not to tell you any secrets. You suck at keeping them."

Harry frowned but didn't argue. There were bigger secrets he kept without a problem, at least he thought he did, and he wasn't about to give them away by defending the fact that he could keep them. "But if I believe in it, then somebody does, and other people might, too."

"Only crazy people believe in ma...that," he dismissed.

Huffing, Harry went back to looking out the window, frustrated with his cousin. He looked out into the street, and saw something sitting on Mr. Emerson's front porch. "What if we try it?"

"Huh?"

"Mag- the M-Word," Harry hissed. "What if we try to do some? And then if it works, you can't say it's not real anymore."

"Do ma-" Dudley cut himself off and rolled his eyes. "How? We aren't witches."

Harry didn't point out that most of the magic people they heard about were fairies, since that would only sink his argument. "Maybe we don't have to be. Remember what Miss Beckett said yesterday? 'Bout wands?"

Dudley's face fell as he saw that school was now invading his home. "What about them?" he asked tiredly.

"They're ma- sticks for _that stuff_ that make things happen. Like in Cinderella, they made her dress pretty, and the mice into horses, and the pumpkin into a carriage."

"So...?"

_"So,_ there's _lots_ of sticks outside." He pointed out the window and triumphantly proclaimed, "And there's a pumpkin!"

* * *

Petunia's hopes rose as she heard Harry skipping down the stairs, her precious Duddydums stomping along behind him. They went past the doorway to the living room, going into the kitchen, and she felt a spark of triumph in having lured them back downstairs with the cupcakes. She got up from the sofa and went in to try to coax her Duddy into spending time with her watching television. As long as she could monitor what was on, there was no reason for her darling to be avoiding his normal routine.

Dudley followed his cousin, snagging a cupcake off from the plate on the kitchen table as he walked by.

"Duddy dear?" Petunia called as her son was reaching the back door.

He stopped, looking back at her impatiently. "What?"

"We can watch some cartoons, if you like," Petunia offered. She'd even refrain from sneering at the talking animals.

His expression darkened. "I'm going outside to play with Harry."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "Well, if you change your mind-"

"No," he cut her off, and let the back door slam behind him as he went into the yard, where Harry stood waiting with an apprehensive look on his face.

Closing her eyes, Petunia took a slow breath, trying to summon her sense of balance.

* * *

The boys waited until it seemed like Petunia had cleared out from the kitchen, and then they went around the left side of the house, creeping low so that they couldn't be seen from the windows. Getting to the front yard, they cast a hesitant look around the corner, where Petunia was likely sitting by the living room window. Exchanging a glance, they dropped to their hands and knees and quickly crawled across the front lawn to the sidewalk, sticking close to the border hedge, which gave them some sense of cover. Once they were at the edge of Number Four's property line, they peered across the road, wondering how long they'd have before they got caught. Strictly speaking, they weren't supposed to be off from the house's property without permission.

Harry made the sprint across, leaving Dudley behind to stare as he ran into the street. Harry snatched a stick up from the neighbor's yard as he scurried straight to Mr. Emerson's porch, ducking behind the railing so that he wasn't as visible to people on the street. Luckily the car was missing from the driveway, so they probably weren't in danger of being caught by anyone who would see them from inside. It took a moment, but Dudley hustled along after Harry, grabbing a stick up and going to hide on the porch.

The sticks which they meant to use as wands had fallen from the tree in Mr. Emerson's yard and lain there in the unraked leaves for some time. The thicker ends were slick and dirty, which made Dudley grimace, while Harry just rubbed at the slime thoughtfully. As Harry looked upon his stick with great intention, Dudley rushed ahead, swirling his stick in the air, smacking the skinny end against Harry's head as he did so, pointing it at the pumpkin that was sitting in front of them.

They both waited a moment.

Dudley whirled the stick around again, this time finishing with a light poke to the pumpkin's golden orange skin.

"Don't hurt it," Harry whispered.

He really wasn't willing to have a talk with his moronic cousin about how food didn't have feelings. "Nothing's happening," Dudley pointed out dryly, feeling a little let down by the experiment.

"Um," Harry murmured as he looked to his stick, "lemme try." He figured it was supposed to be about getting the stick to share a shadow trick with the pumpkin. He'd never really thought of trees as having tricks like magic, but he knew that some things were better at keeping secrets than others. Rubbing the pad of his thumb against the wet bark, he tried to silently coax the mysteries from the stick as he made it dance in the air before bringing it down to tap against the pumpkin. From one plant to another, surely the stick wouldn't mind telling the pumpkin a magic secret, even if it wouldn't want to tell Harry.

They waited.

"This sucks," Dudley proclaimed in disgust.

Harry was still hopeful, since he knew that magic was real, and so there must be a way of making it work. "We must be doing something wrong."

Dudley snorted, but then he perked up as he thought of something. "In the movie, they say mag-" he cut himself off abruptly, looking between the porch railings for his mother. "M-Words," he hissed to Harry when it looked like the coast was clear.

"Like what?" he asked, eager for a solution.

Trying to remember, Dudley whirled his stick around again, saying, "I'm a kazoo, a munchkin with flu, _a bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!"_ He said the last rather dramatically, and then eyed the pumpkin expectantly.

It did not so much as twitch at the boys' exasperated looks.

"Wait, I said it wrong." He tried again, "Alakazoo, a muffin or two, _a bibbidi-bobbidi-boo!"_ Dudley smacked the pumpkin with the end of the stick this time, as though it would make the vegetable take him seriously.

"Don't-" Harry began.

"You _can't hurt it,_ it's a _pumpkin!"_ Dudley cut him off in disgust.

Harry frowned. He just thought that they ought to be polite to it, since they wanted something from it. "Are you sure you got the words right?"

"No. I can't really remember the first part." He stood up, walking around the pumpkin with a contemplative look. "Alakazoo, ah ah achoo, a bibbidi-bobbidi-boo," he tried. He attempted a few more variations with no luck.

Standing up too, Harry stood opposite his cousin and they took turns trying to find the correct magic words to turn the vegetable into a carriage. "Yellow clues, honey stew, a bippity boppity boo," Harry guessed doubtfully, tagging on the only part Dudley seemed sure about.

Dudley looked at him oddly as he made such guesses, but shrugged it off as yet another consequence of Harry not watching enough television.

They quickly became absorbed in conjuring up nonsense phrases which might sway the pumpkin into transforming for them. It came as quite a surprise when the beast descended upon them.

"Boys!" Petunia shrieked from the sidewalk, pale and chilled with horror. "What," she gasped, "what...?" Placing a hand over her heart, she attempted to assure herself that she did need to ask them 'what,' because she didn't already know.

Dudley didn't let her down. While Harry had gone still and had 'caught' written all over his face, Dudley collected himself, backed by years of lying. "What? We're playing, Mummy," he told her, acting annoyed at the interruption.

"Playing," she repeated shrilly. "Playing _what?"_

"Playing swords," he said, as though it should have been very obvious. He held his long stick up and waved it, in case she'd somehow missed it. Then he perked up, looking at Harry, and he gave him a light smack in the side. "And you're dead," he told him pompously, ignoring his mother's burning eyes.

Catching up to the game, Harry pouted in defiance. He raised his own sword up challengingly. "Takes more than that to kill a Black Knight," he told him, cool as ice.

Petunia breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Come play at home, dears," she told them lightly. "You shouldn't be poking about poor Mr. Emerson's house. Come on," she coaxed, waving them over.

They reluctantly went to meet her at the sidewalk, and she made them hold hands to cross the street, drawing a scowl from Dudley, who was still very cross with her. Once back in their own yard, she made a bid to get them inside. "There's chocolate cake for after dinner, but you can have a slice now if you like," she offered, thinking the dessert irresistible.

"'Kay," Dudley muttered, wanting the cake but feeling rather sulky about accepting it.

"Thanks, Aunt Tuna," Harry said, far more graciously.

Her lips twitched with a flicker of gratitude before she went into the house.

Dropping his stick to the ground, Dudley gave Harry a baleful look. "Told you it wasn't real," he scorned. Truthfully, he was disappointed, as Harry had led him to briefly hope that magic _could_ exist. He went on into the house, following the smell of chocolate.

Harry stood in the front yard, feeling deflated. He eyed the stick in his hand dejectedly, wondering where he'd gone wrong.

* * *

After having their slices of cake, Harry and Dudley retreated back upstairs, pink frosted cupcakes shoved into their hands by Petunia. Harry didn't think he could possibly eat anymore, but he didn't have the heart to refuse her. Dudley went into his room and kicked the door closed behind him, so Harry went on to his own bedroom. Feeling a little petulant, he shut his door as well, to try to rub the sting off from Dudley's snubbing.

He wished the magic had worked, of course. More than that, he wished he knew why it hadn't. He was positive that it was real, so why hadn't it come out and shown itself? What did magic have to hide from his cousin for? Was it scared?

Setting his cupcake on his desk, he sat down in his chair and slouched, disheartened. He'd wanted to try something magic with Dudley that they'd learned about in school. Then if Dudley snitched or they got caught, Harry wouldn't be giving away any of his secrets. So far, Miss Beckett hadn't read them any stories of little boys who could glow. Until she did, Harry didn't want to be in a position where he would have to explain where he'd gotten that knowledge of magic from.

Closing his eyes, Harry went through the now familiar ritual of calling up that gentle fluttering from the shadows. Normally he would wait until after dark, when he was in bed, but it was already evening, which seemed dark enough, and he craved the reassurance of being wrapped in magic, after having it fail to appear for him earlier. It was real, he knew, but he knew it better when he could feel it. Sitting quietly in his darkening room, Harry waited. Sooner than the night before, the warm brushes against his skin came to him, and he sighed in relief. He'd been a little afraid that it wouldn't come back to him.

Opening his eyes, he focused on his hands, beginning his stretches early. He'd learned a lot about his glowing, since first finding the secret to it. Sometimes he couldn't change the amount of light; if he was feeling sad, it stayed dim, and if he was very excited, it stayed bright, and might not be willing to turn off. Normally he could just silently tell it how high to glow, picturing it in his mind and pushing the idea at it. The brighter he made the light, and the longer he kept it bright, the more tired he'd be the next day, but he'd found that the more practice he got at using it, the better control he had and the less energy it took.

It was a bit like what Coach Michaels had told Dudley about getting his body to be stronger. It might be tough to do exercises at first, but he'd find it easier to do the same thing the next day. Repeating stuff built strength, or something like that. Harry thought it sounded pretty close to what he was going through with learning to speak to the magic around him. Just as Dudley could run for a little longer each day, so too could Harry manipulate the magic more easily each night.

He lit it up as a soft glow, not wanting to be too obvious, outside from the safety of his bedcovers. After admiring the white radiance for a moment, he let it flicker quickly, enjoying the beauty of speaking in flashes. He wasn't sure what it was he was saying when he flashed his light, but until confronted with another firefly, he'd be content just to know that he was saying something. Silent languages were not to be underestimated.

The trick he wanted to learn next was to get the white glow to change colors, so that he could be green like the fireflies were. So far, he hadn't had any luck.

Playing with the light for awhile, Harry sighed again, lamenting that he couldn't trust his cousin, or anyone else, enough to share his proof that magic was real. He mused over the pumpkin problem, comparing it to how he produced the light, thinking that perhaps there was something the two secrets might have in common.

His light went out when a thought struck him. The glow never liked to stick around when Harry got distracted from it. Not minding the absence, Harry sat up straighter in his chair, eyeing the cupcake in front of him with great interest. _Too fast, too soon,_ he thought, _just like Coach Michaels said. Gotta do the little things first._

Turning a pumpkin into a carriage seemed like an awful big job, now that he thought about it. Cinderella's fairy godmother had probably done tons of magic before she'd been able to manage that. So Harry supposed that the trick was to start small. He grinned in anticipation. _Instead of a pumpkin into a carriage, a cupcake into a...tricycle!_ He bounced a bit in excitement, the flutter over his skin quickening in an echo of his emotions. Leaning over the pastry, he concentrated on it very carefully, like he would with his light when he was trying to make it do tricks for him.

He pictured what he wanted the cupcake to do and pushed the thoughts towards it. The pink frosting would become a pretty red painted trike, and the cherry would be the bell, and the cherry's stem would be the handle bars. The chocolate would be the tires, and the paper wrapping would be the long silver streamers, sparkling in the light-

Harry yelped in surprise and jumped back as the cupcake exploded. Blinking owlishly, he looked at the bits of chocolate cake spread out all over his desk. Looking at the mess, he was glad he hadn't left any coloring pages out.

The door to his room opened, and Harry cautiously peeked over his shoulder.

Dudley stood there staring at him with wide eyes and his mouth dropped open. He looked from Harry to Harry's desk, brow furrowing in confusion, before he settled on just gaping at his cousin. "They weren't _that_ good," he said incredulously.

"Huh?" Harry asked blankly, still feeling rather shocked.

"You've got it all over!"

Just then, a glob of pink frosting clustered with chocolate crumbs fell and landed in Harry's hair. The boys looked up to see more of the confection still stuck, a cheerful splattering on the otherwise immaculately white ceiling.

"Uh oh," Harry murmured, realizing that it was too high up for him to clean. _Maybe they won't notice?_

"We'll tell Mummy I was throwing cupcakes at the ceiling, to try to make them stick," Dudley offered. He'd seen that sort of thing on television before. It would be a lot better than having Harry get in trouble for doing something weird. He didn't think his parents would like any explanation that Harry might have for this, since Dudley wasn't even sure _he_ wanted to hear one.

Harry gave him a look of gratitude. "Thanks, Dudley."

"Uh huh," Dudley said, still giving him a funny look. "You might want to wash all that off your face if you want her to believe us, though."


	17. Happy Hollerin'

Chapter 17: Happy Hollerin'

"What are you going to be for Halloween?" Malcolm asked his friends at lunch.

"Ghost," Gordon said, unenthused.

"I'm gonna be Dracula," Piers declared, "Mom's making me a cape and everything. I'm gonna be _covered_ in blood!"

Harry gave Piers a worried look, wondering why he sounded so happy about that.

"I'm going as a werewolf," Linda chirped, smiling as she thought of her costume.

"Werewolf?" Harry had to ask.

"Yup! Mummy made my costume for me. It's really great!"

"What are you gonna be?" Malcolm prompted again, looking between Harry and Dudley. "I'm going out as a zombie," he offered.

"What's a zombie?" Harry asked. He looked to Linda, who he normally thought of as sane. "And what's a werewolf?"

Dudley rolled his eyes. "Zombies are dead and they eat people." Ignoring his cousin's horrified look, he carried on, "Werewolf's are people that turn into wolf monsters, and they eat people too."

Sitting between two children who intended to eat people made Harry feel a bit uncomfortable, but he couldn't lean away from one without getting closer to the other. "Cannalism?" he gasped.

"Uh huh," Dudley confirmed distractedly, as he stabbed at his mashed potatoes.

"So...?" Linda prompted expectantly, wanting to know what the boys were going to dress up as.

"Is it a surprise, Dud?" Piers wondered.

Dudley dropped his fork and raised his head up to look at his friends, feeling very tired. "We've never trick or treated," he confessed. One more thing normal kids had that apparently Dudley just wasn't good enough for. "My mummy says it's a waste of time and dangerous, 'cause there are a bunch of freaks and weirdoes walking around on Halloween. She just buys me candy." Shrugging defensively, he added, "I watch horror movies though. Least, I used to. She probably won't let me, now," he snarled into his cup of soup.

There was a moment of miserable silence, from which Piers recovered first. "That's horrible! It's evil!"

"What's Halloween?" Harry interrupted.

Covering his face with his hands, Dudley could be heard mumbling through his fingers, "...so stupid it's not even funny."

Harry got indignant at that. "Well, _what_ is it? Isn't it just a day for scary movies? And you," he turned to Linda, getting frustrated, "what would you want to eat people for? I thought you were nice!" Looking back at Malcolm, he silently asked the same question of him. "And what's so great about bleeding, anyway, Piers? It hurts! And-"

"Harry, just shut your face," Dudley interrupted, trying to spare them both some embarrassment.

"No!" Harry shouted, getting some angry looks from the teachers monitoring the cafeteria.

"It's just pretend, Harry," Linda tried to comfort him. "Nobody's gonna really hurt anyone."

"Yeah," Malcolm told him, feeling incredulous, "it's just dress up."

"Dress up?"

"Costumes," Piers said, with a silent 'duh' that everyone could hear.

"To look like something else for the night," Linda added, seeing he was still confused. "Something scary. You know, monsters."

Well, yes, Harry did know monsters. He didn't see anything scary about them though, and felt a bit hurt that his friend did. _If she knew I was a monster, would she be scared of me then?_ Giving up on the werewolves and Halloween, he asked his cousin, "What do you mean we don't play tricks? And Aunt Tuna gives us treats all day long."

"We're stuck at school all day long," Dudley reminded him, still sore about being held in the academic prison.

"You knock on doors," Gordon spoke up, taking pity on Harry. "Go 'round saying 'trick or treat,' and people give you candy."

"Oh. Why haven't we tried that?" It sounded like the sort of thing Dudley would bully him into doing.

"It's only for Halloween," Dudley informed him, "and Mummy says no."

"And you've _got_ to wear a costume," Linda warned him, thinking that overlooking that detail would be much like Harry.

"We don't go, anyway," Dudley repeated, feeling resentful of his parents, his friends and as always, Miss Beckett.

"You can come with me," Piers offered. "Or just come watch the Halloween specials? I wanted to have a party, but my dad said 'next year,'" he told them apologetically.

Grunting, Dudley nodded a little. "Maybe." It was possible he could pitch a fit that was good enough to get his way. He'd never really argued to go out on Halloween before, since it seemed better to just stay in and have the candy come to him. If all his friends were going though, he didn't want to be left out. "Yeah," he affirmed, "I'll make them let me go."

Harry, Malcolm, Linda and Gordon all gave him doubtful looks, while Piers grinned broadly and started chattering about what Dudley should dress up as.

* * *

Locked in a war, Vernon was endeavoring to win his latest battle. "Pet, those Halloween shows do make fun of...strange folks, most of the time. Or paint them as monsters. What's the harm in teaching the boys to be afraid of that sort of thing?"

Petunia gave her husband a sour look. "I don't want him watching anything violent, either."

Vernon tried to look sympathetic, to soften his argument. "They're boys, Pet. It's good for them to see a spot of fighting, or they'll turn out too soft."

_Perhaps your opinion of a good man is different from mine,_ she didn't snap. Vernon had been grating on her nerves for weeks, constantly wheedling for her to relax her standards and let the boys drown in a world of filth, lies and propaganda. She was having none of it.

Sighing at her silence, he wondered how much more pushing he could do before his flower turned poisonous. He wished he could stop their fighting, but it was necessary that he win this. What she was doing to the boys was ridiculous and only going to result in them being ostracized by their peers. Not to mention, other adults were hearing about their stance against fantasy fiction. Mrs. Polkiss wasn't quite successful in hiding her disapproving looks when she'd come to collect or drop off Harry and Dudley from their play dates. Petunia just wouldn't concede that some strange things were normal.

They heard the front door open and slam against the wall in the foyer. There was the muffled murmuring of the boys' voices, and then Dudley's heavy steps came down the hall. Vernon heard the front door gently clicking closed, and felt a moment's gratitude that at least Harry was gentle with the house. Dudley crashed into the kitchen and walked towards them with purpose.

"I want to trick or treat," he announced, chin held high as he tried to stare them down in spite of his height.

Vernon's saving grace in his arguments with Petunia was that their son continued proving him right.

She was flummoxed. "What? Duddy, you've never wanted to go before. Mummy's told you, it's dangerous outside on Halloween. The worst sort of people are out on the streets, then."

"My _friends_ are going out!" he retorted angrily. "Everybody else but me and Harry. We're the only kids who don't get to go!"

"Piers invited us," Harry murmured from the doorway, standing at a cautious distance from the scene.

"Invited you for what?" Vernon asked.

"Trick or treating," Dudley said. "He says we can go with him." He crossed his arms and gave them a smug look.

"Absolutely not," Petunia hissed. "I don't care if everyone and their brother is doing it, _you're_ staying home."

Supposedly, those folks were prowling the streets on Halloween, so Vernon had to agree with Petunia on the trick or treating issue. There was no reason to put Harry within snatching distance of the crazy occultists. "Perhaps next year," he told them. "Besides, it's only next week, and you haven't got costumes."

"Not next year, either," Petunia overrode him. "Duddy, if you'd watch the news on Halloween you'd see that all sorts of terrible things happen. There are vandals and thieves...darling, some of the people out there give poisoned candy to the children who trick or treat! Or popcorn balls with razorblades in them! It's too risky to eat anything a stranger gives you."

"We eat the food at school," Dudley sneered, "and that's coming from strangers."

"Friday surprise might be poison," Harry mused quietly, looking thoughtful.

"It isn't poison," Petunia scolded. "The things they give you at school are all safe."

Vernon cleared his throat. "In any case, the people at school aren't strangers. They're employed and on record. If they did anything bad, they'd be held accountable for their actions."

Harry looked surprised. "So they _might_ poison us?"

"No," Vernon denied, "I just said they _wouldn't."_

"But if they didn't mind getting punished..." Harry trailed off, not wanting to contradict his uncle.

Dudley picked up his cousin's line of thought. "I bet Miss Beckett would poison me, if she could."

"You're having trouble with Miss Beckett?" Petunia asked, a feral gleam in her eye.

For a moment, Dudley considered complaining about how awful it was to go to school everyday and be told what to do, and when to do it, by a cranky old frog. He didn't think they'd care much though, since they were the ones who sent him there. "I _am_ going trick or treating," he told them in an authoritative tone. Then he turned around and strode out of the room, grabbing onto Harry and pulling him along behind him.

Vernon wasn't very impressed with his son's defiance, but though they both suspected it, neither he nor Petunia were particularly worried about the conspiring of two six year olds.

* * *

The next day at school, Dudley shared his simple plan with their friends. "We'll make our own costumes and sneak out," he said proudly. "They think they can tell us no? We'll show them," he said as he speared through the mystery meat, "they can't boss us around!"

Harry frowned worriedly, sure that they were going to get in a world of trouble.

"But they're your parents," Linda pointed out, looking a little disturbed by Dudley's display.

"And that meat's dead already," Malcolm added wryly.

"Do you really think you can do it?" Piers asked, excited.

"Course. It'll be easy. We can just be ghosts. Get to ruin some of Mummy's sheets at the same time," he said with a smile.

Shaking his head, Harry envisioned getting stuck back in his cupboard for the rest of his life. This would definitely mean trouble.

"Don't," Gordon warned them.

"Don't?" Dudley repeated mockingly.

"Don't go out and definitely don't ruin any sheets," Gordon answered with a grave look.

"What's so ghosty about sheets, anyway?" Harry wondered.

"It's just what ghosts look like," Linda told him.

Malcolm leaned over and whispered to him, "No, it isn't."

Harry gave him a contemplative look, but decided not to ask about it in front of everyone.

"All ghosts wear sheets," Piers agreed, "because they're so ugly."

"We could cut up some trash bags instead," Harry offered. "They're white, and they should be big enough to wear."

"It's lazy to be a ghost anyway," Linda told them. "Sorry, Gordy," she added, looking contrite.

Gordon shrugged. "'S okay," he said to his mystery meat.

"I don't want to be something that eats people," Harry told her.

"And we don't have time to make anything cool," Dudley claimed.

"Could squirt yourself with catsup," Piers suggested. "Go as somebody murdered."

Malcolm nodded approvingly. He was going out as a member of the walking dead himself.

"You don't have to be something scary, though," Linda reminded everyone. "Hey, maybe you could go as beetles! That's what I was, last year. Mummy used an old window screen for the wings and wire for the antenny and...wait, never mind, that'd take too much time."

The children continued offering up suggestions, trying to ignore their anxious feelings over the plan.

* * *

On Halloween night Harry and Dudley both had their costumes hidden away in their rooms. Harry was doubtful they could sneak out and then back in without getting caught, but Dudley was more confident. It was just after dinner, shortly before they meant to leave the house, that Vernon called Harry back to the table, after Dudley had already gone.

Retaking his seat with some trepidation, Harry waited for his uncle to announce that he knew about their plan, which was now hopeless, and that he was hereby sentenced to clean the bathroom with his toothbrush, as had been promised to be his next punishment a few months before.

"I've been wondering," Uncle Vernon told him, "if you were to go out tonight, what would you like to dress up as?" He looked as though the answer was rather important, not even looking away from Harry when Aunt Tuna dropped the dinner dishes into the sink with an agitated clanging.

After a week of hearing of nothing but costumes, Harry now had enough ideas for them that it was a bit like trying to name a favorite color. "Maybe a wolf," he ventured, "but not a werewolf. Linda thinks I could make a firefly costume, except it'd need a really long cord to keep the lamp plugged in. She went as a beetle last year. Something with wings would be neat," he mused, hesitantly warming to the subject. "Like a bird? With lots and lots of feathers."

"No monsters?"

"Monsters?" Harry asked in a high voice.

"Goblins," Uncle Vernon said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "ghosts, vampires, that sort of thing." His back was turned so that he could not see Aunt Tuna gritting her teeth, looking ready to attack him.

"Oh," Harry said with some disappointment, "no, I wouldn't wanna be any of those." He knew beyond a doubt that he wasn't supposed to want to be any of them, either. They were all closely associated with the M-Word, and if the stories of witches and ghosts Miss Beckett had been reading to the class hadn't told him before, the enraged look in Aunt Tuna's eyes now confirmed it for him that he wasn't meant to dwell on them any more than he should on fairies or enchantments.

"Well," Uncle Vernon said approvingly, "that's very sensible." He patted Harry on the head and turned to his wife with a satisfied smile which immediately faltered at her murderous expression. He coughed and turned back to Harry. "You can go play now," he told him.

Though he felt a bit uncomfortable about abandoning his uncle to his aunt's mercy, Harry slowly nodded and walked out from the kitchen. Dudley was waiting for him in the hall; he seemed to be lost in frustrated thoughts.

"What was that all about?" Dudley hissed, more to himself than to Harry.

Sensing the importance of their discretion, for once it was Harry to pull Dudley along, as they retreated to Harry's room. They kept the door open but went to the window to whisper at the other side of the room. "He wanted to make sure I didn't wanna dress as something...M-Like."

Dudley still looked confused. "He didn't say we could go though, did he?"

"No but he said maybe next year before, right? He could be checking ahead."

Shaking his head, Dudley kept his disagreement to himself. It didn't make sense but it didn't much matter, either. They could start the fight for next year's Halloween early enough to convince his parents but this year, it was on him and Harry to make it happen. "Whatever," Dudley said rather loudly, "I'm sick of all this Halloween junk, anyway. Let's just play," he demanded, and set about gathering toys from his own room to play across the battlefield of his cousin's comparatively bare floor.

For over an hour, they affected the appearance of two children completely absorbed in a game of make believe, loudly exclaiming over their victories and defeats, without any other care in the world.

Then finally they heard the chattering of children begin to fill the street as trick or treaters made their way onto Privet Drive's sidewalks.

Sharing a look, they set down their toys and went to rummage their costume things from beneath Harry's mattress, where Dudley had also stowed his, after retrieving his toys from his room.

Harry looked at his cut up kitchen trash bag with a doubtful frown. A mountain of candy and getting one passed Aunt Tuna's crazy hatred of M-Things; was it really worth this?

Dudley slipped on his father's white shirt, which he had liberally stained with catsup, as Piers suggested. It hung off from him like a robe, the effect bettered as he had determinedly attacked it with his safety scissors, slashing it in an attempt to make it look like the tattered clothes he'd expect to see in a movie. Opening the near-empty bottle of catsup which he'd hidden away, he smeared globs of it over his throat, and then wiped his hand off against his face, hoping he looked horrific.

With far less enthusiasm, Harry slipped his plastic bag over his head. It had two holes for his eyes, which kept shifting over so that he couldn't see out from them. The hole for his mouth was a bit larger, and the sides of the bag were cut halfway up, so that he wasn't completely restricted.

"You look like a dope," Dudley snickered.

Harry felt it, but retorted, "Wait 'til Uncle Vernon sees his shirt."

"He _won't;_ I'm gonna bury it." Feeling more serious as he felt that their adventure was underway, he crept to the doorway and peered into the hall, then raised a hand and waved Harry over. "We've just gotta be quiet," he said. Then Dudley crept down the hallway with lighter steps than he'd ever taken before.

When they got to the top of the stairs, Harry listened for any sign of where his aunt and uncle were. He was very afraid that they would suddenly come into the entrance hall and it would all be over before they'd even really done any mischief yet.

The television was off, and there was no rustling of pages being turned to tell them Vernon was sitting in his chair with a paper. They listened closely and were rewarded after a few minutes with the soft clinking of china coming from the kitchen, along with the muffled sound of Petunia's voice.

"They're both in there," Harry concluded, and began creeping down the staircase as carefully as he could. Dudley followed, neither of them daring to say a word more as they slowly progressed to the bottom landing. Once they were standing before the front door, any doubts Harry may have had were quashed by his anticipation. By silent agreement, it was him who reached and gently turned the doorknob, easing the door from its casing. The door opened silently but then came to a sudden stop which startled both of them. Looking up, they saw the chain lock fastened high above their reach.

Dudley glared at it hatefully, and then began looking around for something to stand on. Giving up, he looked Harry over appraisingly and beckoned him closer.

* * *

A shriek of alarm followed by a crash sounded from the entrance hall, getting both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Tuna up from their seats in a hurry as they went to see what was the matter. They stopped once they were out of the kitchen and stared in shock at the sight before them. Harry, they had to assume, was wearing a trash bag over his head and sitting upon the shoulders of a wobbly Dudley who was covered in blood, his clothes tattered.

Aunt Tuna screamed as she noticed the red stains covering her baby.

Uncle Vernon was less gullible, considering the holiday. He saw the end of the chain lock still in his nephew's hand and shook his head, half-impressed and half-annoyed at their stubborn determination. Any amusement vanished as he noticed his son's apparel more closely. "Is that my shirt?" he asked, incredulous at the sight of it.

Dudley, red-faced and agitated already from the weight of his cousin on his shoulders, slowly turned and faced his parents. Then he said a very rude word, which quelled all of his mother's fears and kindled her understanding of the situation. Taking her hand from over her heart, she gasped heavily at their audacity. As she narrowed her eyes, her son's glare rose to match hers.

"Pet," Vernon interceded, "why don't you talk with Harry about this." He walked up to the tower of boys and picked his nephew up from his son's shoulders, setting him down on the floor. Looking at Dudley, he said in a graver tone, "I've got some things to discuss with Dudley."

Harry's eyes widened beneath the cover of his plastic bag. He felt a bit glad that his eye holes were misaligned again, so that he couldn't see either Aunt Tuna or Uncle Vernon's glares.

* * *

Petunia was incensed, though not at Harry. No doubt that was why Vernon had latched onto their Diddydums and scuttled away with him upstairs. Clearly, even if only judging by the differences in their costumes, it was her son who was the Halloween enthusiast. So while she gnashed her teeth in the kitchen, impatient and worried, she ignored her nephew's sullen presence, though he sat at the table right beside her.

"I'm sorry, Aunt Tuna," Harry ventured at last.

She gripped her tea cup tightly, before relaxing her grip lest it break the fragile china. It was not only for Harry's benefit that she banned Halloween, and she could not believe that it had been Harry dragging her Duddy out to nose into trouble. There was silence as she could not bring herself to say things were alright, since she still didn't feel they were.

Hanging his head dejectedly, Harry wished she hadn't thrown his ghost garbage bag out, as it would have at least let him hide.

"I detest Halloween," Petunia suddenly told him, quiet and intense.

Raising his eyes from his lap, Harry saw that she was looking straight ahead, as though watching a complex scene unfold against the wall and cupboards. Search as he might, Harry could find no moving shadows or fairies hidden amongst the kitchen appliances, so he turned his attention back to his aunt, watching her warily.

There was a force welling up in her which she was not sure if she should suppress. Weighing the words in her mind, she resolved to say the terrible thing, as she felt sure it would do more good than harm. She leveled her gaze with Harry's, and then focused just above his eyes. "Your parents died on this night," she told his scar. "On Halloween, five years ago."

Harry was deeply surprised but wondered at the significance.

Petunia deliberately thought of her grief for her vibrant, willful sister, allowing herself to tear up without irritation or shame. Meeting her nephew's eyes, she told him in a broken voice, "It makes me sick every year, seeing the world laughing and dancing, with Lily in her grave. This is a day for silent prayer, for me. I won't disrespect your mother's memory by celebrating the day she died, Harry."

As her words sunk in, Harry paled and his mouth opened, as though prepared for a gasp of shock or word or protest which he simply didn't have the coherence to give.

His aunt looked sadly sympathetic.

"I'm not," Harry said at last. "I wouldn't..."

She reached out and petted his hair back, trying to be comforting. "Of course not. It only seems that way. I'm sure that if they've been looking down on you today, they understand that." Shaking her head as though freeing herself from the thought, she blandly added, "Children will be children."

"Looking down?" Harry asked in a dread-filled tone.

"I've told you before that angels watch over the earth," she scolded. Thinking of her love for her own child, she felt a bit uncomfortable as she concluded, "I'm sure Lily's watching you always."

"What about my dad?" he had to ask.

"I wouldn't know," Petunia snipped. "But _today_ I'd think they both are."

"Because they died today," Harry said hesitantly, in a small voice. He didn't see the connection but clearly his aunt was sure there was one.

"Yes," she agreed with a short nod. Then she went back to staring across the table at the cupboards.

Harry didn't bother looking for whatever she was seeing; he thought perhaps she just didn't want to be seeing him, and now he knew why. How was the day he'd lost his parents connected to them, now that they were gone? Why did they pay more attention to earth on Halloween than any other day of the year?

More importantly, did they really think he was celebrating that they were dead, like his Aunt Tuna said? Had they seen him laughing? Did they watch him play on the swings with Linda and Malcolm? Harry counted up every time he'd smiled that day and felt his stomach growing cold. What if they had been watching him, and thought he didn't love them, since he was so happy without them? "I'm not glad they're gone," he anxiously announced. "I _love_ them," he insisted, his voice becoming strained.

His aunt nodded, but still wouldn't look at him.

* * *

Dudley had nodded and sneered his way through his father's determined lecture on how he ought to respect his mother, who loved him and was only trying to look after him, and obey his parents rules, which were there for his safety, and never, ever destroy his parents things. His father had added the last with a mournful look at his shredded and stained work shirt. Dudley might have paid more attention to his father's insistence that there were 'dangerous and unsavory' people outside from his front door who would 'inflict unspeakable things' upon him and Harry, had there not also been so much praise of his crazy mother. If his father thought that Dudley should be treating her better, when she was the nut job who'd started things in the first place, then clearly he didn't know what he was talking about.

After his father left, he impatiently went to Harry's room, where he'd heard his cousin retreat to earlier. He went in ready to complain about how unfair his parents were and what revenge they ought to take on them, but was stopped short when he saw Harry, sitting on his bed with the Lily Book open, red-faced and crying. Dudley was further shocked when Harry looked up and paused in his miserable shaking, giving him a heated glare.

"You! This is all your fault! It was your idea. Now they'll think I _hate_ them," he cried.

"What? Who?" _Body snatchers,_ Dudley thought, recognizing the signs of a possession by aliens. Erratic, unexplainable behavior accompanied by fervent but senseless speech.

"My parents!" Harry yelled, as though it was obvious and Dudley ought to have known.

Dudley attempted to interpret this, making a real effort to find a thread of sense. Quickly giving up, he went with his first thought and just outright asked, "Are you possessed?"

Harry looked too angry for words, or possibly as though he was about to vomit up an alien spawn.

"I mean, you're _you,_ right? Harry?" He looked his cousin over carefully for any traces of green slime.

"You think this is funny? My parents are going to think I don't love them because of you!"

Breezing over the accusation, Dudley got straight to, "Your parents are dead," since Harry didn't seem to remember that.

"I _know_ that!" he screamed, jumping up from the bed. "It doesn't mean they don't _think,_ you twit. Aunt Tuna told me they died today, and I've spent all day planning to sneak out and have fun with you. I didn't remember them once!"

Dudley didn't know what to think of his cousin going nuts. Harry seemed to have run out of breath after his rant, and was standing there panting, hugging the Lily Book to his chest. Zeroing in on the source of all the lunacy in his home, Dudley frowned deeply. "Mummy? She told you?"

Harry nodded. He brought a hand up to his face and pushed his palm against an eye, then rubbed his forehead as though trying to contain a headache. "She says she doesn't wanna celebrate that they're dead. And I was. They've been watching me today and they're gonna think I don't want them anymore. And I _do,"_ he said desperately, dropping his hand. He was eager to convince someone, anyone, that he still loved his parents, even if he'd been acting happy the whole day long.

Blinking as some of the pieces came together, Dudley slowly shook his head. "Harry, we were celebrating _Halloween. _And what's it matter if they died today?"

"Cause they're watching extra close today," he mumbled, then sniffled miserably. He still didn't see the connection either, but he was now as sure as his aunt that there was one. "Maybe," he mused cautiously, "maybe they miss me?" It was a hope he'd entertained in the past; perhaps one day, when he'd worked out how to get wings and could fly up to see his parents, they'd welcome him.

"Or miss everything," Dudley said after he'd thought about it. "I'd miss my shows a whole lot, if I was dead." It was a dreadful thought, and he rushed away from it. "If they're watching closer, then they know you miss them," he told Harry, playing the voice of reason. "You've been crying like a baby since you got upstairs, right?" He looked a little disgusted by the picture. "And you keep saying you love them, so if they did think you didn't, then they don't anymore."

Harry considered Dudley's argument for a moment, so steeped in his misery that he was slow to recover from it. Chewing at his lip in thought, he nodded. "I guess," he agreed, then felt instantly lightened by the idea that maybe they didn't think he was a bad son who didn't care about them. Nodding again more surely, he smiled a little. "Yeah, that makes sense."

He looked at his cousin, standing there with his arms crossed, and his smile froze as he remembered his nasty fit. "Thanks Dudley," he said sincerely, "and sorry about...um, yelling and stuff."

Dudley gave him a cold glare. "It's okay. I know you're an idiot." Uncrossing his arms with a huff, he relented, "It's all Mummy's fault anyway. It isn't enough that _she's _crazy," he snarled bitterly, "she has to go trying to make everyone else nuts!"

A cackling shriek echoed up from the street outside the window, and the boys turned to look in its direction curiously. Harry felt ashamed at the reminder that he'd been intending to have fun on the anniversary of his parents' deaths, while Dudley just crept towards the sight of trick or treaters with a wistful longing.

"We almost made it out," he said regretfully. He watched a girl dressed as a witch lead a small red devil up to Mr. Emerson's front door. "Look at how much candy everyone's got," he added mournfully.

Harry came and stood beside him at the window, peering out to see the street filled with brightly costumed people. He felt a jolt of excitement in his belly and had to guiltily remind himself not to enjoy looking at them so much, since he was supposed to be feeling sad about his parents.

He bit down on his smile when he saw a little girl with a painted face, dressed as a kitten.

It was a close thing, but he didn't laugh at the man in the dragon costume, toting along two little clown children.

He held out for as long as he could, but when the woman dressed as a beautiful red-feathered bird walked by, he gave up and pressed his nose against the glass, becoming completely absorbed by the ever-changing scene on Privet Drive.

"There are so many of them," Dudley said wonderingly. He hadn't known that so many people even lived in his town, let alone that seemingly the entire town would be out tonight.

What was more remarkable, though the boys didn't wonder at it, was that a good portion of the revelers were looking up at them. Some of them were even pointing at the window, looking as excited to see the two boys in ordinary clothes, in an ordinary house, as Harry and Dudley were to be watching them in their fantastic garb. Much of the people who stopped to look at them were dressed similarly, in long flowing robes that glittered in the lamppost's light. A few of them dared to wave, some more bravely than others, all of them smiling.

They bemusedly waved back to a boy and his parents, giggling as a short man who was standing with the family removed his top hat and merrily waved it at them too. The boy between them was dressed as a furry horned creature, and Harry idly wondered what it was supposed to be. He hoped not every child dressed as something strange was meant to eat other people.

"Maybe Daddy was right," Dudley mused.

"About what?" Harry asked distractedly, giving a soft look to a tiny girl dressed as a white lily who was being carried by her parents. Her mother was motioning her to look up at the window, moving her daughter's chubby arm back and forth in a wave.

Dudley felt uncomfortable as he eyed the growing crowd of people in the street who were staring back at him; he imagined there was a gleam of madness in their eyes. "The people out there really _are_ weird." _And dangerous,_ he finished in his mind. Remembering his father's words, he stepped in front of Harry a bit, frowning at the onlookers. "Come on, this is boring," he claimed, nudging his cousin lightly. The trick or treaters were starting to give him the heebie-jeebies, but he wasn't about to say so.

"No it isn't," Harry contested in disbelief. He gave Dudley a look like maybe Aunt Tuna had spread some madness to her son as well, when neither of them had been looking.

"Yes it is," Dudley insisted, using his special tone which said, 'I'm right because I'm bigger and I will _knock_ you _down_.'

Harry scrunched up his nose and turned back to the window, ignoring him.

"Let's go play in my room," Dudley attempted to coax.

"I shouldn't play anyway," Harry reminded him somberly, deflating as he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be having fun.

Dudley didn't share his mood. He rolled his eyes, feeling impatient. "Why would your parents want to see you being a miserable, crybaby dope anyhow? Unless they hated you."

Down in the street, the unofficial Harry Potter fan club began murmuring in alarm as the child they'd traveled to catch a glimpse of suddenly looked crushed.


	18. Three Little Pigs

AN: If you see any typos, please do let me know. **Kristina,** yes, I intend for this story to continue on into Harry's Hogwarts years. **Everyone Else,** I'm sorry if I forgot to respond to you in a Review Reply. I think I got everyone, but I'm not quite sure. Thank you all for your support of the story, either way.

* * *

Chapter 18: Three Little Pigs

Vernon frowned in confusion on the day when Harry and Dudley's first letters came. He supposed that the school had mistakenly addressed something to its students rather than the parents. Bringing the mail to the kitchen, he opened his son's envelope first. He sat down at the table to read the contents, dumping the rest of the mail beside his plate.

Harry looked up from his breakfast and noticed his name written on the envelope which sat at the top of the mail pile. "What's that?" he asked eagerly.

Glancing up from the card he was reading, Vernon passed Harry's letter to him. "It's a birthday invitation," he said, feeling cheerful.

It was nice to think of both the boys being asked over to visit someone besides the Polkiss boy.

"Oh!" Harry ripped open his envelope and grinned as he saw the elephant with balloons on the front of the card, telling him in big letters, 'We're having a party!'

"November 30," Vernon read. "The Howl family."

"That's Malcolm's last name," Harry informed him. "He said he was having a birthday soon, and probably the invites would come soon."

His uncle gave him an appraising look. "Neither of you told me," he pointed out, thinking it odd.

Harry shrugged and looked away. Dudley had been hoping his mother might never have to hear about it, so he'd said to keep quiet until they thought of a way around her. It looked like it was too late now. "Can we go?" Harry asked.

"Go where?" Petunia asked as she came into the kitchen. She'd just gone to wake her dumpling up for breakfast. She saw the identical cards in her husband and nephew's hands. "What's that, dear?" Petunia asked cautiously.

"Party invitations," Vernon cheerfully informed her. "For both of the boys."

"Oh," Petunia exclaimed, "how lovely. My little darling Duddy-Did-Dums dumpling dear-"

"What?" Dudley asked in annoyance, waddling in as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "What is it now?" He sat down in his chair and began poking at his eggs.

"One of your little friends is having a birthday soon?" Vernon asked leadingly.

Dudley looked up and then he noticed that Harry was helpfully waving a colorful card at him. He narrowed his eyes as he saw his father holding one too. "Is that mine, Daddy?" he asked suspiciously.

Vernon handed it to his son. "You could have warned us about this. It's only next weekend. We'll have to go shopping for gifts."

"Whose party is it?" Petunia asked.

"Malcolm's," Harry said.

"Yeah," Dudley almost snarled. "Malcolm's having a birthday party," Dudley told her, "and we're _going."_ He punctuated his decree by squirting a quarter bottle of syrup onto his pancakes.

"Of course you're going," Vernon loudly agreed. "We wouldn't dream of stopping you, would we, Pet?"

"Never! Duddy dearest, you must know we want you to be happy and have friends. And I've always known you'd be popular. Oh, my little baby's growing up and going to parties," she crooned. She stood and wrapped her arms around her son's shoulders, squeezing them tighter when he tried to move away.

"I can go too?" Harry asked his uncle, just to make sure.

"Yes," Uncle Vernon said with a nod, "and you can both get him some nice gifts. What do you think he'd like?"

"I dunno," Dudley said carelessly. "A new bike?"

"That's a bit too big, dumpling," Petunia told him.

"He likes army men," Harry offered. "And monster trucks, and elephants, and zebras, and sand, and-"

"Wonderful," Uncle Vernon cut him off. "It's November 30, that's next Sunday, so we can go to the toy store this Friday and you can each pick two things for him."

"Do they have elephants?" An elephant sounded like a wonderful gift to Harry, and he was becoming attached to the idea of giving Malcolm one. The kids at the party could take turns riding it, and it would surely be the best gift his friend received.

"They have _toy_ elephants," Uncle Vernon informed him.

"Oh," Harry said disappointedly. "_Maybe_ they'll have a real one though?"

"No."

"But-"

"No, Harry," Uncle Vernon countered patiently, "there won't be any real elephants. It isn't a pet shop."

"Can we go to the pet shop?" Harry asked brightly.

Petunia sighed in exasperation and walked away from the table, determined not to snap at anyone.

"Can we get him a monkey?" Dudley asked.

Looking back to her family, she saw that her husband was clearly amused with the boys and she let go of some of her tension. They were normal, she assured herself peacefully. Normal children asking normal questions. She got out a pitcher of juice and started pouring drinks for them all without a hint of a tremor in her hands.

Biting his lip as Vernon explained about 'exotic' animals, Harry silently congratulated himself for not adding that his friend Malcolm liked ghosts and zombies. He didn't think either would make a very good birthday gift anyway.

* * *

Going to Pier's house wasn't an everyday thing, but sometimes it felt that way. Since Mrs. Polkiss was the one to drive them home from school normally, it wasn't a bother for anyone but Aunt Tuna, who didn't much like sitting home alone waiting for everyone else to turn up. Dudley started going mostly because he was angry enough with his mother that he just wanted to be away from her, but after awhile he began looking forward to it as more than just his only alternative to going home.

They did actually watch television sometimes, which was the pretense for Dudley and Harry spending so many afternoons over in the first place. Mrs. Polkiss was plainly appalled by Aunt Tuna's ban on fantasy stories, and especially so on the day when the boys reported that some of their books had been taken away. She tried to make up for their home life, which she imagined to be incredibly grey and militant, by having them over as much as they pleased and spoiling them as much as she could, with peace and quiet while they watched their cartoons and little snacks to take up to her son's room when Mr. Polkiss came home from work.

Harry had wondered about the difference in the Polkiss house, since it seemed to be the opposite of his own home. Mrs. Polkiss was friendly and cheerful, as tolerant but concerned as his Uncle Vernon, while Mr. Polkiss was tense and easily agitated, with a whiplash temper to rival Aunt Tuna's. They'd only needed to get shouted at by Mr. Polkiss once before Harry and Dudley decided that staying in Piers' room when his dad was home really was a good idea.

Piers claimed he was going to have a telly in his room soon, but he didn't have one yet. What he did have there was an impressive collection of toy dinosaurs, action figures and books. For the hour or so between when Mr. Polkiss got home and when Uncle Vernon would pull up at the curb looking for Dudley and Harry, the three of them would entertain themselves with superhero and dinosaur battles, which they often said were taking place in outer space, just to spice the fights up a bit.

What Harry enjoyed most about playing with Piers was the arguments he had with them both about what the different superheroes could and couldn't do. There were some comic books spread out around the bookcase by Piers' bed, but none of them could read enough to get through them on their own. Mr. and Mrs. Polkiss had read everything to Piers before though, so when they sat down to play, Piers was fully armed with a superior knowledge of just how hard Batman could hit, who could shoot laser beams and who was basically a pushover wuss, when compared to the Thing or a triceratops. Harry listened avidly to the account of the heroes' powers, asking as many of his own questions as Piers and Dudley would let him before they'd become impatient to continue their play.

Men and women who could fly, move things or even make them explode using only their minds. Harry thought of the cupcake he'd accidentally blown up, and the light he could make whenever he willed himself to. Had he fallen into radioactive waste as a baby? Were his parents members of a forgotten race of mystics? Could he have been born on another planet? How long would it be before he could fly too?

They used their powers to fight crime and help people. Harry considered this very seriously, supposing that he could at least serve as a good torch if the lights went out. The superheroes all kept their powers a secret, just like he had to, and pretended to be normal unless there was trouble. They wore costumes and masks to disguise themselves, and Harry wondered whether he should have a red cape or a purple one, and what he should call himself when he was rescuing people.

"Spiderman can't fly," Piers complained to Dudley. "You have to use the string and there's no place to hang it."

Dudley scowled and Harry edged back from their play area, recognizing the look. He was pretty sure Piers was about to have Spiderman's string hanging from his neck, if he didn't change his mind quick.

Piers saw it too. "I guess you can just hold the string up," he relented.

Dudley proceeded to clobber Piers' flying brontosaurus.

Setting down his own figures, Harry yawned and crawled over to the comic book pile to look at the pictures. He knew what was going to happen next, since it happened every time Piers felt overwhelmed in a fight. That nervous hedge came to mind, eager to please but rooted in its ways.

There was a loud clashing of plastic figures.

"You can't do that!" Dudley protested indignantly.

"I didn't do it," Piers blandly denied, "Superman did. And _he_ can do _anything,"_ he said proudly.

Piers was devoted to this claim, and could not be persuaded that there was anything his hero wasn't capable of, no matter how many dinosaurs Dudley piled on top of him.

Deaf to the routine argument, Harry lay on his stomach and traced the colored capes on the pages with his fingers. _A gold cape, like the sun; it might like me better if I dressed like it. Or a black cape, like the shadows. If it was blue like the sky, I might fly better..._ Thoughts of his costume abruptly slipped away as he again wondered about the most important issue; what limits would _he_ have in a fight against dinosaurs in outer space? He absently stroked a page filled with heroes who had all different types of powers, from the phenomenal to the mundane. Would he only be a substitute for a light bulb all his life? Or could he be like Piers' favorite hero, and do anything?

* * *

"It curves like this," Linda said as she drew in the sand, "but there are lots of rocks and it gets really steep here."

"Cheap?"

"Steep. Means it goes up," she told Harry, illustrating by moving her hand up in the air.

They were sitting alone together at the edge of the playground and Linda was telling him about the walking path her aunt liked to take her on, when she went for visits.

"And around here," she said as she circled an area off the beaten path, "we look for elves."

Harry's heart skipped a beat at the magical word. "Elves?" he asked with new interest.

"Uh huh. Aunt Shelly says the woods are crawling with them. And I saw one, once."

"What'd it look like?" Harry asked breathlessly.

"I didn't get a good look," she admitted. "It was super fast."

"Oh," he said, deflating with disappointment.

"But it was green," she added quickly. "And I saw its ears, and they were pointed."

Harry perked up again. "Really?"

"Yup. And it had white hair, and really long fingers."

"How big was it?"

"It was..." she trailed off and held her hands up, first a couple feet apart, then half that, then a couple inches.

"It changed size?" Harry guessed excitedly.

Linda shrugged and then nodded.

Harry was quiet as he thought about this.

It was the first time they'd stopped talking since coming out for recess. In the silence, the noises from the playground slowly washed over them.

Linda sat a bit straighter as she listened to the calls and talk of the other children.

Harry was too absorbed in his own mind to notice anything, until she tugged on his coat.

* * *

Gordon Kemp had expected worse when he started school. But he'd made new friends, who didn't make fun of him. Miss Beckett hadn't thrown him out of class for being stupid. No one thought he was a girl for being friends with his neighbor Linda, so he didn't have to choose between her and the rest of the school. So far, things were going great.

Then he got spotted on the playground by one of his older neighbors, who wasn't half as friendly as Linda. Davie Lockwood was eight years old, almost nine, and big enough to tower over most of the kids in his own grade. When he and his friends came over to stand in front of Gordon, the six year old felt completely walled in.

Davie and his friends Joey and Pete looked down on him and smiled meanly. Normally Gordon only ran into them on his own street, but he'd had a feeling that sooner or later they'd force themselves into his life at school. He was surprised it had taken them this long to find him alone without any teachers paying attention.

"Hey, Gordy," Davie crooned. "Gordy, Gordy Gordo. Stupid pig."

He tried to step away from them but was quickly blocked, no matter what direction he attempted to go in.

Joey and Pete chuckled above his head.

"Why're you all by yourself, Gordo? No one wants to play with the little piggy?" Davie asked.

"Tch," Pete scoffed, "yeah, 'cause they can't stand the smell." He waved his hand in front of his face, trying to ward off an imaginary stench.

"Well what else is he going to do besides stand around?" Joey asked. "He's too fat to play tag, too stupid for hide and seek-"

"Too big for hide and seek," Davie corrected. "There isn't anything wide enough to hide him."

They laughed at their own jokes while Gordon flushed with embarrassment and anger. He could hear his breath puffing out roughly, but all he did was stand steady and take their insults, hoping that they would finish before any of his friends came by and heard.

* * *

Teasing Amanda was an easy but entertaining sport. Malcolm, Piers and Dudley had been at it for over ten minutes, and her voice just got shriller by the second.

"Ewwww! I'm telling, I'm telling, I'm telling!" she shrieked.

"We're not doing anything," Dudley denied, chucking the beetle he'd found off into the grass.

Malcolm frowned in disappointment, wishing Dudley had thrown it into Amanda's hair instead.

"I _hate_ you," Amanda hissed at them. "You're just like your filthy cousin. _Bug_ boys!"

"Yeah?" Malcolm bristled. "Well it's better than being a _priss._ And you should leave Harry alone. Maybe then we wouldn't bother you!"

Piers and Dudley rallied behind his challenging tone, trying to look tough and sure of themselves.

"Fine!" she yelled. "Just as soon as he stops being weird!" Turning around, she stormed off in a dignified huff.

Malcolm picked up a clod of dirt to throw at her back, but Dudley put a hand on his arm.

"She really will tell, then," Dudley predicted.

Looking between the dirt in his hand and the back of Amanda's clean white shirt, Malcolm wanted to ask, 'So what? So _what_ if she tells?'

"We'll get back at her tomorrow," Piers said, and by then she was out of range anyway, so Malcolm dropped the dirt.

Dudley was looking around the playground for the rest of their normal group. Harry and Linda had gone off chattering at each other about trees and bugs and stuff, and Gordon hadn't wanted to help them pick on Amanda. It was easy to spot Harry and Linda, still sitting in the grass at the edge of the tarmac, but Dudley was having trouble finding Gordon.

Piers had a sharper eye.

* * *

"Oink, oink, oink," Davie taunted, "I can't believe they let animals in the school!"

"Just leave me alone," Gordon mumbled.

"What? What's that?" Davie asked, as though he couldn't hear.

Gordon looked off to the side.

"Is the baby going to cry?" asked Joey.

"You mean the piglet," Pete said.

"Pigs don't cry," Davie said, "they haven't got any _feelings,"_ he said, punctuating his statement with a push to Gordon's shoulder.

"Hey," a new voice shouted, "get away from him."

Gordon snapped around, and felt dread in his gut as he confirmed that it was Dudley yelling, with Malcolm keeping step with him, both of them looking angry. Piers had stopped a few feet back and was watching the scene warily.

It was a tough job to straighten up and try to look as though nothing was wrong. Gordon needn't have bothered with the act at all, since his tormentors couldn't keep their mouths shut for more than a moment.

"What's this? The piggy _does_ have friends?"

Malcolm and Dudley got to Gordon's side, the three older boys letting them into the circle with their eyebrows raised in amusement.

It wasn't until he was glaring up at Davie that Dudley realized he'd just walked into a ring of bullies who were older and stronger than him. His voice came out a little weaker than he liked when he asked, "What do you think you're doing, bothering my friend?"

"Ohhh," Davie said, "your friend. Well, we didn't know that, did we, boys?"

Joey and Pete shook their heads but kept their mouths shut, not wanting to ruin whatever the joke was.

"We didn't know who we were dealing with," Davie continued apologetically. He smiled at the newcomers then. "You know who this is though, right?" he asked as he pointed at Gordon.

"Yeah, stupid," Malcolm sniped, "he's our friend. We just told you so."

"He's a pig," Joey couldn't resist saying.

"Gordo the pig," Pete piped in.

"That's right," said Davie, "that's what 'Gordo' means. Pig. He must have been a really ugly baby." He sneered down at Gordon and added viciously, "Your parents must have hated you a lot, to name you _Pig._ You must have been a big fat lump, just like you are _now."_

Malcolm and Dudley looked at Gordon speculatively, and the eight year olds standing around them snickered.

Dudley was the largest boy in his grade, so he really didn't care about how wide Gordon was. Looking him over, he noted that the other boy was chubby around the edges, but nowhere near the roundness of his own body. If these kids were making fun of Gordon for being fat, then they were mocking Dudley twice as much. He'd already heard some of the kids in his class giggling and muttering that Dudley was 'piggley wiggley.' He scowled up at the older boys defensively.

Malcolm was the tallest of the two, but slim in comparison. He wasn't taking the insults any more seriously than Amanda's squealings of 'Bugboy' though. He pointedly looked Gordon over for a snout, hooves or a little curled tail, and then turned back to the cocky eight year old leering over them. "Doesn't look like a pig to me," he said.

"Well he wouldn't, would he?" Davie asked.

"Tell him why not," Pete encouraged, "he's too stupid to figure it out for himself." In fact, Pete was wondering why not too.

"Yeah," Joey echoed, "tell 'im, Big D."

Davie grinned. "Because he's a stupid little pig, too. Both of them are. What else would be friends with _Gordo?"_ He straightened up and pointed down at them, then shouted, "It's the three little pigs!"

* * *

Harry looked up from his contemplation of elves when Linda tugged on his coat, just in time to see her spring up and dash onto the tarmac, rushing towards some older kids who were clustered together, oinking loudly.

Perhaps they were trying to turn themselves into pigs.

He got up and trotted after Linda, wondering if she thought elves were at play.

"Shut up!" a familiar voice growled, and all of Harry's magical ponderings vanished.

* * *

The idiots wouldn't move. They kept pushing them into each other and oinking and squealing worse than Amanda could have done. It was hurting Dudley's ears, but when he tried to kick and punch his way out, they kicked and punched him right back. The only person who'd ever hit him back before was Harry, and the kids around him were hitting a lot harder than Harry ever had. Dudley pressed his back up against Malcolm and Gordon, trying to stay as far away from the bullies as possible. He was trying valiantly not to cry.

"Stop it!" he heard Harry demand from behind one of them. "I'll get Miss Beckett," his cousin threatened.

The older boys backed off, looking amused.

"For what?" Davie asked. "We aren't doing anything."

"We were just playing with them," Joey said, as though it was obvious.

"Isn't that right, Gordo?" Pete goaded.

Davie nodded, as though a point had been made. "Gordo here's my neighbor. We've grown up together."

Harry's glare turned from them to his friends, trying to find the truth in the way Gordon was staring at the ground, red-faced and panting, while Dudley just gaped at his cousin in surprise.

"He's lying," Malcolm said helpfully, looking furious. "Go get Miss Beckett."

"I am not," Davie proclaimed, indignant. "I've known him all my life."

"Gordy?" Harry asked.

Gordon didn't look up, but he did move his gaze to look at Harry's shoes. "He's not my friend," Gordon said softly. Then he raised his head and met Davie's eyes, glowering fiercely as he thought of how he could lose his the people who were friends because of him. "I hate him," he ground out.

It was as if a switch had been thrown. Dudley was used to seeing Harry angry, since getting him mad was one of his favorite pastimes. He would get all tense and shaky, and his eyes would get bright, and he'd hiss his words out like a cat. It was a great laugh, getting him that wound up.

This wasn't the funny kind of mad Dudley was used to seeing though. This was a new kind of mad that caused him to take a step back, as his cousin came forward and stood in front of him, between them and the bullies. His eyes were still glinting, his words were being hissed and spat out as usual, but something was off. For some reason, Dudley had the feeling that for once Harry wasn't feeling too helpless to do something about his anger.

It hit him as he eyed Harry's balled fists. He wasn't so shaky anymore, at all. He wasn't trembling mad, like a wet cat. Instead he seemed ready to _fight._

Harry was going to get his clock smashed in.

* * *

"I saw you hitting them," Harry hissed. "And nobody hits my cousin but me." He could feel the magic sliding over his skin, as he used it to read the boys around him. The one in the middle felt like a nettle bush, the left like a crow and the right like a duck. He wasn't sure what all to make from that, except that the bush was probably the biggest threat to his friends.

The nettle bush looked at him, failing to hide that he was uncomfortable. "Well that's really sweet," he said. "Isn't that touching, guys?"

"Yeah," Joey agreed.

"Shut up," Harry cut their act in half. "You get away from us or I'll hurt you worse than you can imagine."

All three of them leaned towards Harry with mocking grins.

"What's a baby like you gonna do?" Pete asked.

Harry bit his lip but raised his chin up a little higher in defiance. He tried to gather as much magic around him as possible. If he could blow up a cupcake...

Malcolm put his hand on his arm. Harry knew it was him without looking, from the familiar feel of a rose bush. He could feel Gordon and Dudley's unnamable energies too, though it was the first time he'd tested his cousin in this way. Gordon he knew from spending so much time trying to guess what it was that reminded him of monsters when he felt him. Dudley he knew without being able to explain how; there was just something harmonic in the air that seemed to say 'family.'

"Come on Harry," Malcolm said, "they'll let us go. Let's just leave. It's okay."

Dudley grabbed his other arm, pulling him back a step. "Or do you _wanna_ get killed today?" he snapped.

The touch strengthened the whispers of family which had been ringing through the air, and Harry's will to attack Dudley's attackers was reinforced, in spite of Dudley's anxious tugging and rebukes. Harry dug his feet in, and his friends weren't able to draw him any further back. He didn't know what to tell his magic, except what he wanted. Fight them, hurt them, make them go away and never come back, he thought fiercely. The smooth caresses of his magic became firmer and his eyes narrowed as the image of himself as a snake became prominent in his mind. He felt poised to strike.

He hissed warningly, and everyone around him looked surprised and disturbed by the sound.

"Jeez," Davie complained, "what kind of freak are you?"

"Break it up!" a teacher yelled at last.

Everyone shifted nervously, except Harry, who turned to the new threat with the eyes of a predator. Tall, old, skinny, woman. Big arms, and sharp fingernails that were reaching for the lead bully's ear. She felt like a mountain lion, the snake told him, but they let her come up to their kin without attacking. She wasn't hunting them. It would be amusing to see her eat their enemies.

_"Mister_ Lockwood! How dare you embarrass me with this behavior? You're a shame to the entire school, bullying children younger and smaller than you."

"I wasn't-"

"I've seen enough to believe you _were,_ Mister Lockwood. After the incidents you've had in my own classroom, suspicion is enough."

She went on in a lecture, but Harry and the snake looked away as they noticed their sparrow and hedge creeping closer, with someone else in tow.

The someone else was the right size to be a friend of the enemies, and Harry gave a soft hiss as he evaluated him. The hiss softened into silence as he felt him out though.

"We went and got your brother," Linda told Malcolm. "And he went and got his teacher."

Malcolm's brother came up to them and laid a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, smiling worriedly. "You alright, munchkin?"

"Yeah," Malcolm said nonchalantly, "I'm fine. Gordon's the one they were after," he added angrily.

Harry looked up at the taller boy in wonder. He didn't even notice as the snake receded from his mind completely. He couldn't remember the boys being lectured beside him or see Linda looking at him with concern. "He's your brother?" he asked Malcolm dumbly.

"Uh huh," Malcolm said proudly. "He's Chester."

Chester smiled at Harry then, and offered his hand out to shake.

"Hi," Harry said, "I'm Harry, and this is my cousin Dudley." He'd said the same thing to the fireflies a million times over, and he was grateful that the words came back to him without thought. He clasped hands with Chester and his eyes widened. They shook hands and Harry absorbed as much information as possible. Chester was blond, with light brown eyes and a nose like an owl's beak. Chester was polite, or he wouldn't be smiling for so long at a bunch of kids younger than him. Chester was starting to look at him funny, tugging his hand back. He could have called Harry the worst name in the book at that moment, and Harry wouldn't have adored him any less.

He was a monster.

He went to the same school as Harry. There was a _monster_ right in Harry's own school. He was Malcolm's _brother._

And Harry was going over to Malcolm's house on Saturday, for a birthday party.


	19. Knowing

AN: It has been a very long while since I last updated this story, for a variety of reasons. Chapter nineteen deals largely with the consequences of chapter eighteen, for anyone who needs a reference point. To everyone who has subscribed or offered words of support for this story, _thank you._ Everyone who is pleased to see DaS updated has **Eilwynn** to thank for the months she has spent politely nudging me. Now, on with the show.

* * *

Chapter 19: Knowing

"Harry, keep your thumbs out or you're going to end up breaking them," Vernon coached.

Harry frowned and put his hands behind his back, quite tired of being told how he should hold them. His uncle had been trying to sneak in tips on the proper way to fight ever since he came home from work and heard about the incident at school. Harry was tempted to call his Aunt Tuna into the living room and tattle, just so he could be left alone. _She_ didn't want him and Dudley learning to fight either.

"Stop pouting at me. Is that what you're going to do the next time you're bullied? Because that's a fine way for you to become a laughing stock and everyone's whipping boy. Now, make your fist like this," he said, holding his own fists out for instruction.

"Aunt Tuna said hitting's bad," Harry protested petulantly.

_"Getting_ hit is worse," Dudley pointed out, with a silent, _'you idiot,'_ at the end. He'd been paying as much attention to his father's lesson as he normally gave to the television. It was the first time in his life that he'd been so eager to learn something.

"Well said Dudley! Now why don't you show Harry how it's done, hm? Get back in the stance I showed you, that's it. I can tell you'll be a natural at this. It's in your blood, you know."

Harry stood off to the side and watched as his Uncle Vernon guided Dudley through a fake fight. The thought of actually getting involved in a 'match' made his stomach knot up. Observing the way Vernon's eyes were glued to his son, Harry did his own footwork out into the hallway as quietly as possible. He went towards the kitchen and stopped just outside the door, close enough to the sanctuary of his angry aunt that he didn't believe his uncle or Dudley would come to retrieve him if they noticed he was gone.

For hours he had felt strangely imbalanced, as though something inside of him had gotten heavier. The way he had behaved that afternoon had felt right at the time but once he'd calmed down he felt queasy about it. He'd just gotten so angry to see someone threatening Dudley, and he had the feeling that if he hadn't been that mad he probably would have felt sick from fear. No one had ever treated his cousin that way before and it made Harry think that perhaps he should be taking better care of him.

But not in the way he had that afternoon. He never wanted to feel that angry again.

* * *

"I notice Harry's slipped out again," Vernon commented.

Dudley looked around the living room and then shrugged. "He's weird."

"Hem. Well, it seems that fighting doesn't suit him very well."

He kept very quiet. The memory of Harry hissing at the older boys with a wild look in his eyes replayed in Dudley's mind, as it had been doing since the fight was ended by Malcolm's brother. Harry's acting out was impressive and embarrassing, as usual, but there was something extra there that felt _wrong._

"Of course, just based on size he isn't a good candidate for getting into scraps," his father continued without a clue. "As small as he is, he could get seriously hurt quite easily. It's your responsibility to look out for him too, Dudley. You _are_ older," he reminded his son, placing his hands upon Dudley's shoulders to help get across that he was serious.

It was something Dudley would normally gloat over and he found himself nodding automatically. He was older, bigger, stronger and Harry didn't stand a chance compared to him. This was how it had always been and would always be.

"So then, you'll just have to learn to fight well enough for the both of you, eh?" Vernon raised his fists up with a light grin, enjoying being able to teach his son something useful which Dudley was actually _willing_ to learn from him.

Dudley's eyes lit up and he respaced his feet and readied his fists, eager to learn more about how he could punish "Big D" the next time the bully came after his friends.

He was even more eager to quiet the doubt which had been pushing at him from the moment he saw Harry striding into a ring of upperclassmen to stare up at Big D without a hint of fear. His cousin _couldn't_ be braver than he was - just much, much dumber.

* * *

"Aunt Tuna, how do you get out of a fight without hitting?"

His aunt startled and nearly dropped a mixing bowl. The sound of slamming cookware had been echoing in the kitchen since she'd finished snapping at her husband for suggesting the boys should learn how to fight. For a moment she glared at Harry in irritation but then she sighed in defeat. "You know the best thing to do is to avoid getting into a fight in the first place, Harry."

He frowned. "But today...they were going to beat up Dudley."

Her mouth opened and only a distressed squeak came out. She raised her hand to her temple and Harry wondered, with a terrified feeling, if she was about to start crying.

Then she lowered her hand and shook her head. She closed her eyes and when she opened them she was his Aunt Tuna again, angry and unsatisfied. "What was it that you thought you were going to do for him, hm? Even the older boy who helped you -

"Chester," Harry supplied. The name had been on the tip of his tongue all afternoon.

"Yes, even he went to find a teacher to stop things instead of putting himself between all those bullies. The thought of you and Duddydums, such...such little boys," she stopped to cover her mouth.

"Aunt Tuna...I had to help. I couldn't just let them keep pushing Dudley around. And Gordon and Malcolm too. It was wrong and - and I was right and they should have stopped. So how else could I have done it?"

She looked at him with an angry fire in her eyes. "Are you deaf? You get a teacher!"

"What if there isn't any teacher around?"

"You don't belong where there aren't any teachers! What am I sending you to school for if you're just going to wander around unsupervised? What the hell is this world coming to when people on a payroll can't even be bothered to attend to their responsibilities?" She slammed the large spoon she was holding against the mixing bowl and then the bowl crashed against the counter. She grabbed a dish towel to wipe her hands off and stormed to the cupboard where the cooking pans were stored, pulling one out and then kicking the door closed.

Harry was a little surprised that she seemed to be actually cooking something and not just smacking things around to scare the family. More shocking still, "You said a bad word," he pointed out in horror.

"I could say a lot more bad words about that school," she grumbled menacingly at the cooking oil.

"Aunt Tuna?" he prompted warily.

There was a moment of silence before she sighed. "Whenever you run into bullies in life, the solution is to outthink them. Whether that means getting out of their way or convincing them that it's not in their best interests to hurt you...there's more than just standing and fighting, Harry." She turned to him with serious eyes and a tense frown.

"I told them to stop. I said they'd be sorry if they didn't," he offered in his defense.

She snorted. "And why would they be sorry?"

"Because I'd hurt them," he told her, as though it were a given fact. It was something he had felt at the time, sitting inside of himself and simply waiting for a chance to strike. No matter what anyone told him about how small and helpless he was as compared to the older boys, Harry felt certain that whatever he nearly did to them, it would have hurt them badly.

_"You_ would have hurt _them._ Harry, I don't want to hear you talking that way about anyone. Hurting people is never the solution."

He thought of all the times his aunt had hurt him - his feelings when she snapped and glared, his arm when she grabbed and pulled, his face when she drew her hand back and slapped him. Obviously hurting people was Aunt Tuna's solution whenever it came to him. _But then, I'm not really a person, am I?_ "Aunt Tuna, are monsters people?"

"Not really," she said with a confused look, "but I wouldn't call those boys monsters just yet. Give them a few years first." Her eyes narrowed. "Why would you ask about 'monsters?'"

He shrugged. "It's what a teacher called them," he said, which was true. He didn't know why Mrs. Elkes had said it, when Harry could tell as plain as day that they were perfectly normal, aside from being awful brats.

"Well they weren't too far off the mark. However in civilized society even monstrous people have rights and are treated with a certain level of respect, understood?"

He was surprised but answered automatically, "Yes, Aunt Tuna. Um, I don't really want to hurt anyone anyway," he confessed in a quiet voice. After the way his uncle had gone on about boxing it seemed like hitting people was what he was expected to do but he was hanging his hopes on the mysterious 'other way' his Aunt Tuna insisted he could find.

"Good," she said with a sigh of relief. "Good, Harry. That means you have some sense in your brain." She glared towards the door to the hall, silently censuring her husband for encouraging the boys to behave like beasts. When she looked back at Harry she gave him a tight smile. "Having common sense means you've already won half of all your battles. You should never forget that your ability to think is your most important resource in any situation."

"Okay," he agreed meekly, understanding most of what she'd said. He didn't think they were keeping the same things in mind though - his Aunt Tuna seemed to expect that talking to bullies could make them stop and leave him alone, while he was considering that his _magic_ seemed to come from his thinking - he willed things, very strongly, and sometimes, perhaps, something might happen.

She nodded, looking almost pleased with him. "The best way to solve things is with words. Language holds far more power than fists," she finished disdainfully.

"So what words will stop people from hurting you?" he questioned curiously. If all he needed was to say the right things, like a fairy casting a spell over a castle, then getting out of fights in the future would be much easier.

"Well, at your age you should tell them you'll tattle."

"Oh." He had already tried that, as had his friends. "If that won't work?"

She shrugged carelessly. "Then tell them their shoes are untied and run away while they look. Look over their shoulders and make your eyes wide, then call the teacher's name as if she's standing right behind them. Pretend to have a sudden headache and cry out in pain - serious medical issues tend to frighten people away. Just do anything to surprise or distract them. If they can't see reason then what you'll have to do is trick them."

It sounded too easy but Harry felt a lightening in his chest at the possibility of being able to do something besides either getting hurt or hurting someone else. "Lying's bad," he reminded her cautiously.

"It is," she agreed with a stern expression. "Lying is very bad. An act of violence is worse." She stepped away from the counter and took a seat at the kitchen table, gesturing for Harry to do the same.

Harry sat to his Aunt Tuna's right and waited attentively.

"Have you ever heard the phrase, 'choose the lesser of two evils?'"

He shook his head.

"It means that when you have a choice between one bad thing and another, you should pick whichever is least awful."

"And lying is less awful than hitting," he interpreted.

"Yes," she agreed.

"What's worse than hitting?" he had to wonder. Sometimes his Aunt Tuna would hit _him,_ so what was the more awful thing that she would have to do if she didn't?

She thought a moment, then swallowed and shook her head slightly. "Nothing you have to know about," she told him, and reached out to pat the back of his hand. The showings of affection were becoming habit, when once they would have been unthinkable.

"It must be something terrible," he stated softly.

* * *

"What was all that about anyway?" Piers asked the next day at lunch. The question was directed at pretty much everyone but Linda. What was up with Gordon and those older kids? Why were they oinking at Malcolm and Dudley? How had Harry been the one to save the day, and what was all this he kept hearing about the little runt _hissing?_

"What? The hokey pokey?" Harry asked distractedly, staring across the cafeteria. "I think it was just about having fun."

"No," Piers said in annoyance, "not that."

"Then what?" Linda asked exasperatedly. "You already know all about Davie and his friends. What else is there?"

He couldn't put his finger on it, except that there was the sense that he was missing something big. "Okay," he relented, "how about 'why does Harry keep staring at Malcolm's brother?'"

Malcolm looked up from the peas he'd been mashing to see if this was true.

Harry went right on staring at Chester, apparently oblivious.

So Malcolm turned back to Piers and shrugged. "Chester's cool," he explained. "Lots of people stare at him."

Piers glanced at Dudley, who was scowling into his food like he wished he could heat vision fry it. "He doesn't normally hiss, does he?" he asked in a lower tone.

Dudley's shoulders tensed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"But-"

"Just shut up, okay?" Dudley snapped.

Shrinking down in his seat, Piers muttered a subdued, "Okay."

"Did your parents say anything?" Malcolm asked. "Mine lost it."

"Yeah," Dudley said, "my dad's gonna teach us to box. So we can show kids like that they shouldn't mess with the Dursleys."

Harry shifted in his seat, but continued staring across the room without comment. He had to write _Potter_ on his school papers everyday and the name was the only thing he had which belonged to his father. He wondered what his parents would think of the confusing flip in his stomach that came anyway when his cousin included him like that.

"That's cool," Malcolm said enviously. "My mom would never go for that. My dad neither, probably. They hate violent stuff."

Dudley just grunted. His mother hadn't really gone for the idea either, before his father did a lot of wheedling and convinced her to just let him to it. She'd glared at him over dinner though, and given Harry a second helping of dessert just for weaselling out of learning something. _That_ was really fair.

"We should do something to get back at them," Linda said, casting her eyes across the room towards Davie, Pete and Joey. "They shouldn't just get away with it."

"They all got detention," Gordon reminded her. Like Dudley, he was looking more at his food than at any of his friends' faces.

"That's from the teachers," Malcolm said. "It doesn't mean anything if they still think that we can't do anything to make them stop."

"Aunt Tuna said to tell them their shoes are untied," Harry put in distractedly.

Linda gave him a wary look. "That's nice, Harry."

"She said bullies are supposed to be stupid. They just have to be tricked." He paused in his observations of Chester and looked around the table at his friends. "We're smart enough to trick three idiots, right?" he asked uncertainly.

"Absolutely," Malcolm immediately affirmed.

_"Some_ of us are," Dudley muttered.

"But only if it's to stop them from hitting people," Harry insisted, then went back to staring across the room while his friends plotted. He heard mention of buckets and soap and shoelaces but left them to it.

Harry had more important questions on his mind than what prank they should play.

* * *

Upon seeing the street where Malcolm lived Harry felt that Privet Drive was not 'the nice part of town,' as his aunt and uncle would sometimes say. Elmwood Road had houses of different shapes and colors, sitting on larger lawns than what Harry thought usually went with a home. He was fascinated to see that the first house on the left was a pale pink and the Howl home, set on the right in the middle of the street, was painted a light green like the first buds of spring.

Aunt Tuna sniffed and said she was glad she didn't have to look at such garish houses on her street.

Harry wondered how old he would have to be before he moved out and got a house of his own. Twelve? Surely by fourteen he could manage.

"Behave yourselves," Aunt Tuna warned them both before they could get out of the car. "And remember to thank Mr. and Mrs. Howl for having you over."

"Yes, Aunt Tuna," Harry responded dutifully.

"Pfft," said Dudley, and he quickly squirmed his way out of the car with Malcolm's wrapped presents in his arms.

Mrs. Howl greeted them at the door. She was a tall woman with light hair and a pleasant smile and when Harry thanked her right away for inviting them she patted him on the head and called him a dear, or possibly a deer, Harry could never be sure.

The plan to behave started going downhill once they were in the house and joined their friends. Malcolm grinned and passed him a plastic cup of fruit punch which tasted very sweet. Harry was drinking a second cup of it when Piers insisted that Malcolm show them his toys. This was when Harry and Dudley discovered something wondrous which lit Dudley's eyes with a jealous gleam.

"A playroom?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Malcolm said, as though it were perfectly normal.

"A room...just for your toys," Dudley cautiously defined. His eyes were large as he assessed the games, stuffed toys, action figures and tables covered in patterns and figures. He didn't even know what to call some of the things he saw.

"And Chester's," Malcolm added.

The organized shelves were then stripped bare and the floor became littered rather quickly. Harry didn't want to make a mess of things but as everyone else was tugging out whatever interested them, he went ahead and helped Linda carry some realistic looking dinosaurs to a wooden table covered in black squares.

Half an hour later Harry was drinking a third cup of punch while watching everyone play indoor tag, which was something he'd thought was impossible. Children were running, in the house, and no one was yelling. It didn't make any sense - it violated the rules of life - but Harry wouldn't trade the tolerant amusement of Mrs. Howl for the screaming fits he'd expect from any other adult. She simply called for them to settle down and then organized them for a game of Duck, Duck, Goose, which _still_ involved them running in the house.

It was when Mrs. Howl stopped their game for cake that Harry first saw Chester, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Harry got up with the rest of the children and walked beside Malcolm, hoping to get a seat near his brother. Unfortunately Chester didn't even sit at the table, preferring to stand and watch like his mother was doing rather than sit with the younger kids. It was a disappointment but he was quickly distracted by Mrs. Howl decorating the cake with tiny candles. There were already strawberries set into the cream colored frosting and Harry had never seen his Aunt Tuna place candles in food before. They were sometimes set out on the table but he hadn't thought they could be eaten.

She lit the candles and Harry decided that he didn't want a slice of cake afterall. Unless this was a special, fake kind of fire he was fairly sure that it would be far too hot. Sitting right next to Malcolm, he could feel the heat radiating from the cake and it was doing a good job of quelling his sweet tooth.

They sang Happy Birthday to Malcolm and when the song was finished Mrs. Howl told her son, "Make a wish!" They all watched as he took a deep breath and blew it out over the cake, extinguishing the candles.

As Mrs. Howl began plucking the candles out of the cake Harry and Dudley exchanged confused looks. Dudley was too embarrassed to admit he didn't know what had just happened but Harry went ahead and nudged Malcolm.

"What'd you make a wish for?" he asked.

"Can't tell you," Malcolm dismissed, "if I tell you it won't come true."

"Oh." Harry leaned back, frowning at the thought of taking a wish away from someone. He had heard of them through stories and knew that they were powerful things that could change a person's entire life. "But, the candles," he murmured, unable to help himself.

Malcolm gave him an indignant pout. "I blew them all out in one try," he said defensively. "That means I get my wish."

_Blowing out candles grants wishes,_ Harry filed away. He accepted his slice of cake and ate it quietly, thinking furiously.

Across the table Dudley was trying not to look too sour. Birthday wishes. Was this another thing his mother had taken from him, which every other child had?

Malcolm opened his presents as everyone enjoyed their cake, thanking them all graciously and smiling so much Harry expected his face hurt. When he got to the stuffed elephant from Harry he added another shoulder nudge to his thanks and Harry beamed at him.

With new toys revealed and the cake finished most of the children got up to continue their play and get Malcolm's new things settled into the playroom. Chester began clearing the table of paper plates, plastic cups and wrapping paper, which drew Harry back to the table immediately.

"I'll help," he chirped.

"You don't have to do that," Chester told him with a friendly smile.

"I want to help," Harry cheerfully insisted.

Chester's lips quirked in amusement. Malcolm had mentioned his friend Harry could be a bit odd.

Together they had things picked up quickly and Harry made sure to hold onto his own plastic bag of trash rather than let Chester take them both. He followed the older boy out the back door and they walked to the bin, Harry passing his bag up to Chester's hands.

When Chester started walking back Harry rushed to grab his sleeve and stop him. He couldn't talk about monster business in front of normal people without causing problems. "I - um," he started to babble, having too much to say and not enough of an idea of how he should say it. "I wanted to ask you something," he settled on, though he really wanted to ask at least a dozen things.

"Ah, yeah," Chester hemmed, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I noticed."

"You did?" Harry asked excitedly.

"Well, yeah. I don't think anyone else noticed you and your cousin looked confused, though. See, it's a tradition," he explained as he began walking again. "On your birthday you have as many candles on your cake as the age you're at and once they're lit you make a wish. Like Malcolm said, if you blow them all out with one try you get your wish. I guess not all families do that though," he commented while giving Harry a speculative look.

"Is it a monster trick?" Harry wondered.

Chester leaned away from him. "A what?"

Harry tried to say the real word but found it stuck in his mouth from the habit of holding it back. "Is it, you know..._magic?"_ he managed at last.

"Oh. Well, I guess. If wishes work then they'd have to be magic, right?"

"Aunt Tuna doesn't like...magic," Harry admitted with a very glum expression.

He seemed bewildered. "Huh. That's a little sad."

_"You_ like magic, don't you?" Harry pressed.

Chester took a step away and looked at him like he was crazy. It was a familiar expression for Harry to see. "Sure. Why not?"

"Does it buzz for you?" he had to ask.

"Buzz?"

"Or hum?"

"Um. I really don't know what you mean, sprout." His confusion cleared then and he grinned. "Maybe you've had a little too much sugar today, mm?"

It was Harry's turn to be confused. "But it's there," he whispered desperately. "I can tell it's there." _In you, in me, in everything. There are secrets all around us and I don't know why,_ "Can't you hear it?"

Chester went quiet and looked out into the evening. He took a deep breath of fresh air and listened to the crickets beginning to chirp. Then he shrugged and looked back down at Harry. "All I hear is you chattering," he declared. Turning around he walked back to the house, opening the door and waiting.

Harry stood there feeling stuck. Should he argue? Could he win? He knew from experience that the older a person was, the less they were willing to listen. Was ten years old just _too_ old?

This was a fellow monster though. How often had he wished that another monster would come and find him? He had to do whatever he could.

_'I know you have magic,'_ he wanted to say, but perhaps Chester didn't know himself. Harry had only recently figured out 'magic' was what to call the things he could do.

He bit his lip and then reworded one of the questions he'd been wanting to ask since his discovery. "If you did have magic, would you tell people?" he asked slowly. _Would you even tell me, when I've got it too?_

"Hn." Chester let the door fall shut behind him and cocked his head. "Well, I don't know. I guess...no."

"No?"

He nodded more certainly. "No, absolutely not. Everyone would be wanting to use me like a servant and the government might experiment on me."

"What about just telling some people?"

Chester pursed his lips as he thought it over. "Some, maybe. I guess anyone would tell their best friend about it." He gave another cheerful smile. "Wouldn't you?"

Harry considered it. Who was his best friend? He started to shake his head 'no,' then stopped. _I kind of told Dudley already. Almost anyway._ "I'd tell someone if I thought they wouldn't be mad or tell on me," he decided after some deliberation.

Chester smiled indulgently. "Sounds about right to me," he said as he opened the door again and stepped inside.

"And I guess I won't tell someone if they'll think I'm crazy for it," Harry remarked, disappointed with both of them.


	20. Spirits

AN: Sorry, sorry, sorry. The next chapter, 'A Very Dursley Christmas,' will be along before the new year.

Edit: It's January 28th so as you can probably conclude, something went wrong. My family encountered an unexpected change over the holidays which at first required days of attention, and now simply demands that many things be turned upside down. This change has been a joykilling, stress-inducing distraction from DaS. Bleh.

However things are settling a bit (or are about to get worse, I can't actually tell but I can _hope_ for the better), so I will be working on getting the next chapter to you soon. _Really._ I feel awful about leaving you hanging guys. :(

* * *

Chapter 20: Spirits

Dudley refused to count the days on the calendar himself but every morning since his father had hung the lights outside of the house he had sat down at the kitchen table and asked, "How many days now?"

"One day less than it was yesterday," Petunia answered.

"How many?" he demanded indignantly, getting frustrated.

"She said ten yesterday," Harry told him.

"So?"

"It's nine today," he said softly.

Dudley frowned. "That's too many. Mummy, can't we do it this weekend? Why do we have to wait?" He pouted and crossed his arms, ever hopeful that he would get his way.

"Now Duddy darling, don't you want to wait until your Aunt Marge gets here?"

"No!"

Harry rolled his eyes and ignored them as Dudley continued to whine and his Aunt Tuna tried to placate him without giving in. Once the Christmas decorations had started going up Dudley had let go of some of his anger at his mother in the hopes that he could sweeten her up and get more presents.

Privately Harry thought that Dudley could get more if he continued acting like a brat because Aunt Tuna would try and win him over with presents the same way she had been trying to do with delicious treats. Of course making that suggestion would mean putting the tension back between the two of them and Harry was more than happy to enjoy the temporary peace.

* * *

"Mummy's taking me to a homeless shelter this weekend," Linda mentioned that day at lunch.

"She's giving you away?" Harry asked in horror.

"No! Of course not. We're volunteering. It's in the spirit of Christmas," she explained.

"I thought that was another word for ghost." Harry quietly commented.

"It is," Malcolm agreed, "she means the ghost of Christmas."

"I do not!" Linda snapped, annoyed.

"For Christmas there are three ghosts," Malcolm told him, "the ghost of Christmases gone by, the ghost of Christmas presents and the ghost of the Christmas that comes the day after you die."

Harry took issue with the middle one. "How do you kill a Christmas present? Are they all the Christmas puppies people get?"

"That makes no sense," Linda sneered. "If you don't die on Christmas Eve then the day after isn't Christmas, is it?"

"Whatever," Malcolm dismissed her. "It's the next one after you kick it, alright?"

"Having Christmas spirit means you're jolly, like Santa," Linda explained to Harry, deciding to ignore Malcolm entirely.

"That's the spirit of Christmas presents?" Harry wondered. "Because they make people jolly?"

"Yes, exactly," she said brightly. Then she scowled. "Wait, no. There are _no ghosts."_

"Yes there are," Malcolm put in. "Ghosts, ghosts, everywhere. Right Gordon?"

Gordon frowned, uncomfortable with the thought of Christmas being haunted but not wanting to disagree.

"Leave him out of it," Linda scolded protectively.

"I guess there could be," Gordon offered, not pleased with being shut out of the conversation.

"Having Christmas spirit is about being nice to people like Santa is, too," she continued, ignoring Gordon along with Malcolm. "It's about helping the people who are poor or lonely to feel better. That's why we go around and sing carols for them."

"Like nursery rhymes?" Harry guessed.

"Did someone give you sugar today?" Gordon wondered.

"Malcolm gave me a candy cane during snack time!" Harry informed him with a chipper grin.

"Oh," he said, and gave Malcolm a look which asked, 'See what you've done?'

"Sort of. Carols are songs just for Christmas. Like Silent Night and O Christmas Tree, or Joy to the World. You've got to at least know Jingle Bells. Or Deck the Halls?"

"Oh, I've heard some of them. And I know the last one," Harry admitted. His Uncle Vernon had a habit of singing it while he hung the garland on the stair banister. Harry liked to watch him decorate the hall and pretend that the pretty baubles being hung around his cupboard were just for him. This year he had watched from the living room and hadn't known what to think of it at all. If he was free to enjoy the house at last then did that mean the garland and wreaths and lights really were for him too?

"I can teach the rest of them to you," Linda offered. "I know them all. Gordy does too. And maybe you can come carolling with us this year!"

"We aren't stomping around in the cold at night just to sing to people," Dudley informed her plainly. "Mum wouldn't allow it anyway. We might get sick."

"I've never gotten sick from it," she said with a disappointed pout, "but alright. I'm almost finished with my letter to Santa," she announced to change the subject.

"Me and Chester are doing ours soon. I tell him what to put in mine and he writes it out," Malcolm said.

Harry's eyes grew wide. "You write Santa? You think Santa's real?"

"No," Dudley intervened before things could get out of control, "he's not. He's all made-up, like I've been saying to you for weeks."

"How can you not believe in Santa?" Malcolm wondered incredulously.

"I can believe in him," Harry said mulishly.

"Because he isn't real," Dudley said in a flat tone. He was very tired of having to repeat that fact over and over, all day long as Harry kept pretending not to hear him. "Every year, I get presents from _my parents._ Not Santa. You all think that you get stuff from a crazy fat guy with magic because your parents pretend they're him. Mine don't. 'Kay?"

"Maybe it's because you're naughty," Malcolm suggested, as if that made more sense.

"I'm not," he objected indignantly.

"I am," Linda mused, "but I get presents anyway. It must be because you don't believe in him."

"Ugh. Could we stop talking about the make-believe witch guy?"

"Sure," Gordon answered easily. "So," he addressed the group in a mischievous way, "what are you putting in your letters to Santa?"

Dudley gave them all an ugly scowl and noticed Piers rolling his eyes at them. "Let's sit over there," he proposed in disgust, then stood with his lunch tray and moved further up the table to sit away from the rest of his friends.

Piers thumbed his nose at them and stood to follow, tired of hearing about nothing but Christmas. While he had been able to make them jealous a few days before by explaining that he got gifts for eight days while they only had presents for one, it did nothing to quiet the daily uproar about trees and elves and jingle bells.

"So if you believe," Linda wondered once they were gone, "then why doesn't Santa visit you?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because I'm bad? Aunt Tuna and Uncle Vernon don't get me anything either. So if I've always been too rotten for presents then Santa wouldn't come," he said miserably.

"No presents?" Malcolm asked in a scandalized tone.

"Never?" Linda squeaked.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Gordon said sympathetically. "Maybe this year."

Linda sat up straight at that. "Definitely this year," she said. "If you give me your letter to Santa I can pass it to Aunt Shelley and she's got a connection at the North Pole."

"She does not," Malcolm refuted disbelievingly.

"Oh yes she does. And that's why my letters always go to her instead of the post. They get to Santa faster that way."

"She takes mine, too," Gordon put in. "Ever since her aunt started taking them Santa's brought me exactly what I wanted every year."

Malcolm still looked doubtful but Harry was eyeing them with excitement. "Who does she know? Is it an elf? A snowman? Does he sing? Jack Frost? Is it a reindeer? Or Mrs. Claus? Does Santa have children? And Dudley says that if reindeer flew then there would be flying reindeer poop everywhere, so what does he do about that?"

Harry had been harboring more and more questions as the holiday crept closer and he learned about Christmas from the stories Miss Beckett read. It was surreal to go to school one day and have _everyone_ discussing magical things, especially since the Dursleys dismissed Santa Claus with the same sneers and abuse which they gave to werewolves and wizards. It seemed that the North Pole was a place where magic flowed freely, with such strength that people all over the world knew about it and couldn't deny it was real. Unless they were Dursleys or Piers.

"She can't say," Linda told him with a sorrowful look, "it's top secret."

"Oh," he wilted. "Not even a hint?"

She shook her head. "I can ask her again though. Maybe she'll say something. But I can still take your letter, Harry! And I swear Santa will get it," she vowed sollemnly. The thought of someone never having a single Christmas present was disturbing to her and she refused to let it happen to her friend for another year.

"In my family we burn the letter and it gets there by magic," Malcolm said importantly. "The ashes go to the North Pole and put themselves back together there. That's the fastest way."

"Do you get what you ask for?" Harry asked with wide eyed enchantment.

"Usually," he said with slightly less confidence.

"Do you burn the rest of your post, too?" he wondered reasonably.

"Of course not! Just what goes to Santa. It takes magic to be able to get letters like that."

Harry was quiet as he thought that over, wondering just how much Santa's magic let him do.

* * *

"Mrs. Howl called this afternoon," Aunt Tuna said in a voice which implied they were in trouble.

"Is Malcolm okay?" Harry wondered innocently. Dudley didn't even bother looking away from the television.

"He's fine. She wanted to know if it would be alright for her to pick _Harry_ up from school tomorrow to go play at the Howl house." She eyed them grimly, as though looking for evidence of a crime to be sticking out from their pockets.

"So can I go?" Harry couldn't help but plead.

"Why would he ask only you, Harry?" she questioned almost viciously. Then she turned her suspicion on Dudley. "Have you had a fight with him, Duddy?"

"No."

"I asked Mrs. Howl if you had misbehaved when you were at the party and if that was the reason only Harry was invited but she said Malcolm asked both of you to come and you refused. Is that true? Why would that be?"

Dudley rolled his eyes, exasperated with his mother's nosiness, his cousin's mission to write Santa and his friends' moronic determination to help him. He could end half his troubles by telling her that was what Harry intended to do at Malcolm's but then who knew what she would do next. Maybe finding out every other kid in the world believed in Santa would make her want to keep him away from them all, the same way he was now forbidden from hearing any stories with magic from the telly or even his teacher. While Miss Beckett could turn her nose up and tell everyone about flying reindeer without his mother having to hear about it now that Harry knew better than to open his mouth, his friends couldn't exactly sneak across town to see him if his mother decided to lock him in the basement for the rest of his life or something.

Even a lack of school wouldn't make the imprisonment worthwhile.

"They're doing baby stuff," he explained with a sneer. "I'm too old for little kid games."

She frowned in concern. "Surely you have something in common that you can all enjoy."

"Sure," he agreed carelessly, looking back to the telly. "But Harry and Malcolm are still stupid babies, and I'm not and neither is Piers, so he can go see Malcolm and I'll play with Piers instead."

"Darling Diddydumdrops," she said unsurely, "are you certain you aren't bothered by anything?"

"Mum! I'm trying to watch my shows! Just leave us alone!"

"Alright, alright. I'll fix you a snack."

"Shhh!" he scolded in frustration.

Harry watched his aunt leave and looked back to his cousin in disbelief.

"What?"

"You called Malcolm a baby."

"So? All of you going on about San- san...sank, um, sang, er..."

"Give up on it," Harry whispered harshly. His aunt was all the more likely to find out about the slip the longer Dudley kept babbling in an attempt to cover it.

"All of you," Dudley carried on boldly, "are babies. And idiots. And I'm glad you'll be gone for the day so that I won't have to be around any of you at all because you're the worst of them, Harry. If Malcolm's a baby then you're not even born yet, it's so bad."

Harry gave him a dirty look. He was looking forward to an afternoon free of his cousin too. He stood up and abandoned him to his television to at least take a little break for the moment.

"Bring back crisps," Dudley instructed when he saw that Harry was heading into the kitchen.

He ignored Dudley, knowing his Aunt Tuna was already fixing something for them. Them, not just Dudley, and that had gotten to be so much easier to believe than he ever would have thought.

"Did you need something, Harry?"

"No," he answered, coming to investigate the counter anyway. He watched in fascination as his aunt meticulously frosted little trees and angels with colored icing, placing shiny candy balls on the trees and dusting the angels with sugar crystals.

Harry's bubble of peace was broken by his Aunt Tuna asking the strangest question.

"What would you like for Christmas, Harry?" she asked casually, barely even looking at him.

"Christmas?" he parroted, bewildered. Christmas was a day for the Dursleys. It had never been for him, as he had learned the hard way every year he was foolish enough to hope he might be included. While his friends thought Santa might be persuaded to bring him something, he had built his doubts upon years of waking up to his cousin's squeals of joy as he sent wrapping paper across the room in the frenzy of uncovering new toys while Harry had to stand in the background and watch. Aunt Tuna and Uncle Vernon would coo and fawn over Dudley even as he declared his dislike for some of the gifts and screwed his face up as he demanded replacement presents.

Far worse than observing the specially decorated biscuits and cakes which he wasn't allowed to have or the mountain of toys he wasn't allowed to touch was seeing the family smile for the whole day, except when they chanced to sight him, and sit quietly around the fire in the evening, Dudley playing on the floor in front of the sparkling Christmas tree which Harry was warned away from with dire threats.

He really hadn't thought that getting special Christmas snacks this year was a sign that he could have everything else too.

She narrowed her eyes, looking annoyed. "Yes. Christmas." She sounded as though she thought she was being reasonable and it was Harry who didn't make sense.

He saw her impatience and shrank down a bit. "Can I have a slice of cake?" he asked, thinking of the beautiful mountains of red, white and green sugar and candy he'd seen the Dursleys feasting upon on the holiday. For the past two years there had even been a gingerbread house perched on top.

"I thought you'd want to try the biscuits," she said in confusion.

"For Christmas," he corrected her, wondering if she was playing a joke on him.

"Oh. Yes, of course there will be cake. Is that all you want?" she asked skeptically.

"Um. Can I get something for my friends?"

Aunt Tuna looked surprised. "How many friends?"

He held up his fingers and counted them off. "Malcolm, Linda, Gordon, Piers," he listed.

"You could help me make up some sweets for them," she offered with a strangely cool expression. "Fudge, candies, biscuits, a nice little basket or tin for each of them."

"Great!" he agreed with a wide grin, shocking his aunt.

"It will mean a lot of work for you," she warned, still thrown off by his willingness to work at making a gift instead of pushing to buy things as Dudley would. If her Duddydums had thought to ask, that was. He had been playmates with Piers for years but had never once brought up getting him something for Christmas.

"I'll do it. Please?" he entreated with wishing eyes.

"Alright. Yes, that will be fine," she said in a bit of a daze. "But what would you like for yourself?"

It was quiet as Harry thought over his options. He considered that there was a difference between what he wanted and what he could get, as well as what he could get from his aunt and uncle. So he did not say he wanted a dragon, an airplane, a piano or a magic wand. Neither did he bring up his favorite books from school, which were all what his Aunt Tuna would judge as inappropriate for a child's mind because of the magic they contained.

"Markers," he decided at last.

"No. You'd be getting ink all over the carpets. Think of something else," she demanded, and turned to face him fully, waiting for something more acceptable.

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from arguing. He used markers at school and the only thing he drew on which he wasn't supposed to was himself.

"A friend for Indiana," he tried again.

"That's your teddy bear, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Well, aren't you easy to please?" Aunt Tuna muttered.

It was the first time Harry had ever heard such a sentiment from her and he found it to be slightly unnerving. "Aunt Tuna are you feeling good?"

"I'm fine, Harry," she dismissed. "Right as rain."

* * *

_"...in Who-ville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day!"_ Miss Beckett read to an enchanted audience. Every story that week had been a Christmas favorite of hers, happily shared with her bright-eyed students. She concluded the tale with a fond smile and closed the book, waiting for at least one little hand to go up.

As expected, Harry Potter's hand shot up once it was clear she was finished and questions were permitted again.

"Yes, Harry?" Miss Beckett prompted with practiced patience.

"Is the Grinch a person? Like anybody?"

"Not quite," she said with a small frown.

"Then what is he?" Harry wondered with a lost look.

"He's a Who," she said hesitantly, "just a bit different from the others."

"Then it's just Whos whose hearts can grow?"

"No, not at all. That is the moral of the story. All of us whose hearts feel too small sometimes can find the love for others which we need to make them grow." She smiled at her class contentedly as the children were silent and seemed thoughtful.

"Is Who-ville in England?" Harry Potter ruined her peace with.

"Who-ville is on a clover, in the Jungle of Nool."

"Where's that?"

"I would say Africa but it has kangaroos, so it must be in Australia," she mused.

"Can the class trip this Spring be to Australia?"

"Not this year, Harry."

* * *

Harry rode home with the Howl boys on Thursday afternoon, sitting in the back with Malcolm while Chester sat in the front passenger seat beside his mother. He couldn't stop himself from observing Chester as the greatest secret he'd ever had the chance to uncover, a very clever shadow trick as the magic he felt when he reached out lived behind the picture of a kid like any other. Seeing a fellow monster blending in so well almost made Harry think he might be more normal than he'd thought himself to be. Then again, Harry was strange enough to recognize what he was while Chester acted like he didn't have a clue.

"Do you wanna watch movies before or after we do the letters?" Malcolm wondered.

"After," Harry answered promptly. He had thought about it very carefully but now he was sure of what he wanted from Santa and he felt anxious to have the request ready to give to Linda the next day so that her aunt could get it to the North Pole. "I want him to get the letters as quick as he can so there's enough time."

"Time doesn't mean much to Santa," Chester said. "He delivers millions of presents all over the world in one night so I'm pretty sure he's got enough time for reading letters. Or the elves do."

"They get ready all year long," Malcolm disagreed.

"Well yes but unless you've got a very special, practically impossible request then I think you're fine. Just because they're building toys all year long doesn't mean they can't handle last minute wishes."

Harry bit the inside of his bottom lip to stop himself from pouting. He didn't have an impossible wish, just a very big one.

* * *

"You two go ahead," Chester said with a smile. "I'm just going to grab us some hot chocolate and then I'll be right in."

Harry followed Malcolm obediently and was surprised when he went to settle down in the living room instead of the playroom. Then he noticed that there were sheets of blank paper, crayons and markers on one half of the coffee table in front of the couch and a notebook with a pen on the other.

"We can draw pictures of what we want or just go with normal letters. I do both and Chester used to do that too but now he just writes." He sat down on the floor, grabbing two sheets of paper and opening the box of crayons.

Harry set his backpack down on the couch and then sat beside Malcolm. "I only want one thing and it's not really something I can draw," he admitted.

Distracted from his drawing of a pet dinosaur, Malcolm looked up at him with a stunned expression. "One thing? Harry, it's Christmas. And what if you can't get that _one_ thing? What if they're all out of it at the North Pole? Santa's got a budget, you know? My parents tell me that every year."

"It's not really a _thing,"_ Harry defended. "And if I can't have it then I don't want anything else."

"Oh?" Chester teased as he came in with a tray carrying three mugs of hot cocoa. "So what's your number one gift for the year?" he asked with an amused smirk.

Harry battled down his nerves and kept his chin up. "I want to see my parents for Christmas."

That knocked the smirk off the older boy's face. "Oh. They're away for Christmas?"

"They're dead."

Chester flinched back and got a startled and uncomfortable look like a bug had flown up his nose but Harry didn't give him a chance to react any further.

"If Santa's magic - really magic, like he has to be - then he can let me see them. Just for a day. Just for a minute? There has to be some way he can do it."

"Harry," Chester said in a gentle tone, "I think that might be beyond what Santa knows how to do."

"He can make reindeer fly and either he moves super fast or he travels through time and he can shrink to slide down chimneys and he gets letters from ashes travelling all across the world and his best friends are elves and talking snowmen," Harry listed off fiercely. "So why can't he just fly up to heaven and bring my parents down when he visits my house?"

"It's a good wish," Malcolm agreed, quietly encouraging. "I wonder if anyone's tried it before."

"I'm sure someone has," Chester said quickly. "But it couldn't have worked. When people die, for longer than a few minutes at least, they're gone. There's no bringing them back. And sprout, once they're in heaven that's where they belong for the rest of time. They wouldn't -" he cut himself off, not willing to tell an orphan that his parents wouldn't be happy to be reunited with him on earth. Besides, he wasn't sure if it was true.

"They don't have to stay with me forever," Harry countered in almost a whisper. "Just until Santa's done for the night and then he can take them back. Or even just for a few minutes." He sank back against the couch. "You don't know what it's like because your parents are right here. I don't even know what Daddy looks like," he tried to explain, then stopped so he wouldn't cry. He felt a hand on his shoulder and risked a glance at Chester.

"We'll all put it in our letters, Harry," he promised. "If all three of us ask for it then maybe there's a chance."

"Absolutely," Malcolm agreed. "Chess, make it number one on my list. Well, after a new bike. So number two, 'Take Harry's parents to see him for Christmas.' And number three is a bulldog. Four, inline skates - write faster," he instructed as his brother obliged him with a roll of his eyes.

Harry watched them with wide eyes. He hadn't expected anyone else to spend their Christmas wishes on him. He smiled as he felt some of his nervous tension ease and he watched the brothers, Malcolm bossily reciting a list to put Dudley's to shame and Chester writing it all down, from locomotive to tyrannosaurus.

"And for Harry," he prompted when he had his brother's letter set to the side, waiting for a few drawings to accompany it into the fire. "Dear Santa," Chester said as he wrote the next letter, "my name is Harry Potter. I am six years old and have been very good this year. For Christmas I want..."

"I want to see my parents for Christmas," he said eagerly.

"'...to see my parents, please.' You're sure that's all, Harry?" he asked, looking up from the notebook.

"Yes," Harry answered surely. He didn't want Santa to think that a toy meant just as much to him. If he was going to write to a magical gift giver then it only made sense to ask for a gift which could only come from magic, not a shopping mall.

"Alright. 'Thank you. Sincerely yours, Harry Potter,'" he finished with a flourish.

Harry sighed with relief and after it was torn from the notebook he accepted his letter to Santa with a grateful smile. Then he grabbed a sheet of blank paper to color on.

"Changed your mind?" Malcolm asked.

"No. I'm going to draw Mummy as an angel so he'll be able to find her." He started by reaching for a bright red crayon to color her hair with. While she had striking green eyes he figured it was the hair which would give her away first.

Chester watched them color for a moment before starting his own letter.

_Dear Santa,_ he wrote after some thought, _it's Chester Howl again and I've been very good all year long. This Christmas I want my little brother's friend Harry Potter to be able to see his parents without having to go to heaven himself. Please. _

_If you can't do that then I'd like a kiss under the mistletoe from Brenda Masters. _

_And a speedboat._

_Thank you. _

_Sincerely, _

_Chester Howl_

* * *

Harry had expected _A Christms Carol_ to be another fun story about magic and dreams and everyone being nice for a change, even though Malcolm had told him there were ghosts in it and Chester and warned that it might be too much for him.

He really hadn't expected it to be even worse than the alien invasion movies Dudley liked to watch. True the mean old man learned his lesson in the end and started being nice to everyone but what about his friend? Had anyone visited Marley and scared the wits out of him so he would be good before he died?

Harry was torn as Marley and Mr. Scrooge and the Grinch all made him think about the Dursleys and how they had been so unkind to him before suddenly changing. He was starting to think it was because something had made their hearts grow, whether it was the angels or nightmares or singing clovers. It made him think that every Mr. Scrooge should have a chance to change but there was Marley, doomed forever.

He was also going to sleep with his head under the covers that night because whether Marley's ghost was pitiful or not, his pale face and thick long chains were still something he didn't want to wake up to see. Worse than that, he'd be having dreams about being pushed into his grave early and getting buried alive.

"Too scary?" Chester asked pityingly.

Harry shook his head 'no.' He wasn't going to be the baby Dudley accused him of being.

"Want a zombie movie next?" Malcolm asked eagerly.

"No, sprout," Chester insisted without even having to look at Harry's alarmed expression. "We do not want zombie movies for Christmas. Unless they've come out with an Undead Christmas movie?"

Malcolm deflated. "Not that I've seen."

"Then we're sticking with Rudolph."


	21. A Very Dursley Christmas Part 1

Author's Note: The timing of this chapter's release is entirely accidental and not at all planned. I'm not pleased about posting it a year after I said it should be up and I don't expect you to be either. While I don't normally mix personal details in with my fan activities, something like this warrants explanation, particularly considering that I have the best lot of readers for this story that I ever could have hoped to attract.

The 'tl;dr' version is that the fallout of the real life issue mentioned in the note I added to the previous chapter is still going on. At this point it's only a financial problem, which I am trying to resolve (wish me luck, I've no idea what's going to happen), but for many months it was also tied in with a generous supply of negative emotions. There's been a lot of fear, stress and frustration over the last year and that's not always easy for me to filter out when I'm writing. For this reason, when I've had time for recreational writing the results have been more adult than what's appropriate for DaS.

In November I finally found the necessary happy thoughts again, partly thanks to the infectious childhood magic in youtube fanvids for the new movie Rise of the Guardians (particularly Shooting Star by ToothlessMI and Gold by YoungTitan213), but my time is constricted. For the past two weeks I've been trying to catch up on my fandebts even though I should really be paying more attention to other things. It just feels like if I don't put the time in now, I may not get the chance to later.

I want to thank you all for your patience and understanding, as well as your support of the story. I've been horribly lax in replying to reviews but I read and appreciate all of them. And a special thank you to Eilwynn, who has often offered feedback, assistance and critique, and has generally put up with way too much in her efforts to get updates.

An actual _story_ note - The three chapters that make up A Very Dursley Christmas were written side by side and each installment only became complete within the last twenty-four hours. It originally started as one chapter and just grew to insane proportions.

* * *

Chapter 21: A Very Dursley Christmas

Red, red, red. Like Santa's hat and cardinal wings and holly berries. Harry's smile lit up as he watched the white light of his fingertips change to match the vision in his mind, darkening quickly to a deeper scarlet than what the artificial lights outside his window held. He was very good with red but when he let the will to change the light go it turned back to white as it always did.

Harry had come up with the goal of being able to imitate the Christmas lights before his Uncle Vernon took them back down at the end of the holiday season. Admiring their cheerful glow, blaring not only around Number 4 Privet Drive but wrapped all about the trees and houses on nearly every street they drove through, Harry had been struck by the desire to join in the silent, joyful language through his own illumination.

He closed his eyes and focused on green, green, green, his mind scattered over the greens he knew best, his mother's eyes and new spring leaves and the garland hanging on the stair railing in the hall. When he looked he saw that the light briefly tinged mint before he lost the color as he always did. He thought the trouble was that the shades he saw most vividly in his mind were all so different.

"Harry," his Aunt Tuna called from the hallway, "we should get started now if we hope to finish before dinner."

He instinctively hid his hands behind his back even though the door was closed, the glow already fading from his fingertips. "Okay! I'll be down in a minute, Aunt Tuna."

"Be quick," she scolded. "I'm doing this for you."

Harry wondered how it was that something which should have sounded nice, and probably would have if it were said by anyone else, instead came out as a sour accusation when his Aunt Tuna said it. He chalked it up as a Dursley mystery, something special in the way their voices worked which other people didn't have, like a bird call for a duck that wouldn't get an answer from a pigeon.

He still smiled to himself at the words in spite of her tone. It wasn't very long ago when Aunt Tuna would not have done anything for him, with a sour face or not.

* * *

"Grab your coat, Dudley," Vernon called to his son, "we've got an errand to run."

"Can't," Dudley said to the television, "busy."

His father came into the room and turned the telly off, keeping his cheer even in the face of the boy's fierce scowl. "None of that, now. This is important. You have the biggest responsibility of the whole year."

Dudley frowned, unimpressed with the promise of work whether it was important or not. "Make Harry do it."

"If Harry picks out our tree we'll end up with a rose bush," Vernon dryly refuted. "Now come on, get up. Your mother wants the tree to be up before your aunt gets here tomorrow night."

"And then the presents will be put out?" Dudley reasoned with more excitement.

"Yes, of course. But no peeking this year!" he warned sternly. "If you do that again then whatever you've unwrapped early will go straight back to the store."

"I only unwrapped things a _little_. Just the corners," Dudley defended in a whine.

"Even just the corner. It was enough for you to tell what things were," Vernon grumbled.

Dudley rolled his eyes, lumbering into the hall to slip on his winter gear. His coat for the year was blue, to match the light blue mittens, scarf and hat one of his mother's friends had knitted for him. The scarf itched and the mittens were too large but his mother insisted that he wear them. One day, when he had defeated alien races, joined a rock band and become filthy rich, Dudley was going to move to a place where there was always sun just to get away from all the blasted itchy wool.

Harry came downstairs as he was putting his boots on. "Are you going out to play?" he asked, looking confused and a bit disappointed.

"We're going to find a tree," he corrected, standing taller and feeling important.

"Make sure it's very green," Harry advised in a sage tone.

Dudley gave him the 'you're crazy' look. It was an expression he wore at least eight times a day. "All the trees are green."

"Yes but some of them are more green than others." Harry frowned in thought as he considered that wasn't quite right. "A dark green," he corrected himself.

"We'll see what we can find," Uncle Vernon told him, standing in the doorway to the living room and regarding Harry with fond befuddlement. "Hem. Unless you'd like to come as well?" he offered awkwardly.

"I'm helping Aunt Tuna," Harry told him. He thought that his uncle probably already knew that but it was nice of him to pretend to offer him a say in the tree's selection anyway. Sort of. "Can we put a real star on the tree this year?" Harry asked, desperately hopeful. He'd heard of falling stars and surely someone collected them, which meant there had to be a place where people could buy them.

Uncle Vernon's eyes widened and he looked down the hall towards the kitchen, where Petunia was waiting for her nephew. He held up a hand to the boy and waved it downwards, trying to signal that he should keep his strange fantasies to himself. "No," he said firmly, voice quiet. "Stars are very large, very far away and all of them are on fire. It's impossible and if it were possible, the house would burn down. All of England would burn down," he amended thoughtfully. "The Sun is a star and you see how large that is, boy."

"It's the size of an orange, isn't it? When I hold one up outside I can't see it anymore."

Uncle Vernon gave him the 'you're crazy' look just as well as his son could. Harry wondered if Dudley had learned it from him or if it was the other way around.

"Yes, well. It looks that way because it's many, many kilometres away from here."

"How many?"

"Millions. Many millions. Ask your aunt. And it is so large, Harry, that it has it's own gravitational pull and all the rest of our solar system revoles around it."

"What?"

He observed his nephew's look of incomprehension as he buttoned his coat. "Ask your teacher. The point being, that the Sun is much larger than the Earth and -"

"How much larger?" Harry interrupted, stunned but fascinated.

"And," he said pointedly, ignoring the question he couldn't remember the answer to, "it's a star, which ought to show you that they're much too large for a person's Christmas tree, even if they would not ignite the whole neighborhood and burn everyone to a crisp. Let's go Dudley," he prompted, satisfied with the way he'd handled things.

"Then why do people _want_ to put stars on their trees?"

Vernon pretended not to hear him.

* * *

"And where have you been?" Petunia asked when Harry walked through the door.

"Uncle Vernon was telling me about the Sun," he answered.

Every Dursley ever had mastered the art of giving him the odd eye. If a new one hatched from an egg the next day, it would contort its face just the same way as soon as he spoke to it.

"It's bigger than the Earth," he informed her.

"Over a hundred times larger, yes. Wash your hands so we can get started. We've a lot to get to. Don't think you'll be able to do a little and then wander off to leave the rest up to me," she warned him with a sharp look in her eyes.

Aunt Tuna didn't need to worry about that. Harry was looking forward to a day of playing chef, knowing that he was making things for his friends. He figured it would be like arts and crafts, only what he made would be edible, which Miss Beckett insisted glitter and paint were not.

* * *

"Now, I didn't want to let the cat out of the bag while we were still in the house," Vernon said with a conspiratory light in his eyes, "but we're not only searching for a tree."

Dudley regarded him with mild interest. "Are we going for ice cream?"

"It's December," his father responded incredulously.

"Hot fudge sundaes are better when it's cold," Dudley pointed out.

"Hmph. Perhaps. However it isn't ice cream we're looking for today."

"Is it aliens?" he asked boredly, already knowing not to expect anything that cool.

"Aliens don't exist, son. And you'd best not joke about them where your mother can hear."

"She's not here. Are you going to be like her and start a war against aliens too?"

"Since they do not exist," his father emphasized, "no, I will not be fighting over them. Surely you can think of better guesses than dessert and warfare."

Dudley leaned back against his seat, staring up at his limited view through the windshield. "Are we running away to another country?"

"A Dursley doesn't run, Dudley."

"Picking up Aunt Marge early," he guessed.

"Unfortunately not. We'll be doing some Christmas shopping."

Dudley shot up in his seat so quickly that he briefly gagged himself on the seatbelt. "I'm getting presents early?"

Vernon chuckled. "For your mother, my boy. I'm not going to let you pick out your own gifts!" He laughed quietly, smiling at his son's overexcitement.

"Oh." He sank back down, deflated.

"Is there anything you've had in mind?" Vernon prompted.

Dudley considered offering any of his ideas of what he should get for his mother but he didn't want another lecture on being polite and respectful towards the woman who had given him life, which his father seemed to think meant she was allowed to ruin it if she wanted to.

It had been almost a month since Malcolm's birthday party but Dudley was still seething over the realization that other children had birthday wishes - all of their friends did, he found out after Harry asked them - but not him. He was so sick of finding out that he wasn't normal when compared to the rest of the kids at school. No wizards or monsters on Petunia Dursley's television, oh no! No talking cats or time travelling either.

The Polkisses _pitied_ him.

Why did his parents have to be so weird?

_Malcolm's_ parents were amazing, even giving him a room just for his toys. When Dudley suggested that Aunt Marge's room should be a playroom for him and Harry, all of a sudden they were expecting her to come for Christmas. He'd much rather have the playroom than visits from his aunt, but his parents had both acted disappointed when he said as much.

Disappointed! In _him!_ They were getting to be unbelievable.

But he wanted to receive presents that year, so he kept quiet about his thoughts and shook his head. His father probably wouldn't know where to buy a pet skunk or a bottle of poison or a tarantula anyway.

"That's alright," Vernon consoled, "I can help you with ideas. Pet loves anything rose scented," he listed, "and earrings are usually a safe bet. Of course if it's from you she'll love it no matter what it is."

"Mn," Dudley grunted in disinterest.

"How about Harry?" Vernon asked in a cautious tone.

Dudley was quiet as he imagined what his weird little cousin might get for his mother. He really hoped the idiot didn't try to give her a stick, calling it a magic wand, or glitter filched from school, calling it pixie dust. "I don't know what Harry's getting Mum," he admitted, and he was wondering if he wanted to know. "Maybe nothing." _Hopefully nothing. Please God, let Harry never even think of it._

"Ah, I meant is there anything you'd like to get for him?"

Dudley stopped gazing up at the scenery and stared at his father.

"You've been closer to him since this summer," Vernon explained. "I just thought that perhaps you would want to give him something. The true joy of Christmas is in _giving,_ not receiving, and while Harry's helping your mother make up little treats for all your friends, ah, it seems that you haven't found anyone at school who you want to do anything for. Which is perfectly normal at your age," he tacked on reassuringly.

"I have friends, Daddy," Dudley nearly snarled, feeling defensive. He was closer to Piers than Harry was and so what if he didn't want to bake his friends a cake or whatever Harry was doing? Kitchen stuff was for girls.

"Of course. Perhaps you'll even invite those friends over sometime."

_Mum's too embarrassing for that,_ Dudley retorted in his mind.

"It's only an offer, Dudley. You don't have to do anything at all. Your mother and I have already picked up a few things for your cousin that we think he'll like."

"I want to get him something," Dudley insisted. Afterall, a new toy for Harry was a new toy for Dudley to play with too since his cousin shared everything. It was just stunning to hear the offer.

It was still odd sometimes to see how much his parents had changed the way they treated Harry. He'd gathered at school that everyone else had gotten Christmas presents for as long as they could remember, except Piers who celebrated something similar for eight days, which Dudley hadn't been able to convince his parents to do. _Something_ about Harry had been so terrible that he was the one kid in their whole class who had never been given a Christmas present, even though he was nicer than Amanda, didn't curse like Dennis and smelled better than Thomas.

It all made Dudley sure that Harry himself was the surest proof in the world that Santa wasn't real. His _parents_ had decided Harry wasn't good enough, so he wasn't. If _magic elves_ had been left to figure the Good List out, he didn't think they'd pass over Harry but approve of all the kids who he knew lied, cursed, shoved, stole and cheated at school. _Dudley_ wouldn't make it on a magical Good List if Harry couldn't.

It would be nice if he could get his cousin a brain for Christmas so that he could stop ignoring the truth and give up his Santa talk.

* * *

Harry had expected the hardest part of cooking to be waiting for things to be finished in the oven but it turned out that most things went on top of the stove instead, a lot of time was spent waiting for things to chill and Aunt Tuna had packed their to-do list so fully that as soon as they were able to rest with one task, she was shuffling him off to another with more instructions. He wasn't allowed to handle knives or the stove but Aunt Tuna put him to use stirring, pounding, greasing, pouring and cleaning up their messes as they went along.

Harry was wearing his arm out stirring through batter, dough and frostings but whenever he'd stop too often, switching hands and shaking them out as he willed them to feel rested faster, Aunt Tuna would come take over. There were some mixtures Harry could barely move a spoon in but she was able to whip them through the bowl in a quick storm as though it was nothing, leaving Harry staring at her in disbelief.

He was fascinated by the task of making edible snowflakes. They were crafted from white chocolate, and Aunt Tuna let him hand her the candy bars that she was melting at the stove. He loved watching her pour the melted chocolate into the snowflake molds with a squeeze bottle, feeling it was a special kind of kitchen magic that the smooth liquid could be shaped and set into something new so easily. He waited eagerly while the first of them were in the refrigerator to set for twenty minutes, hardly believing the results when his aunt let him retrieve them. Who knew there could be snowflakes that began their lives with what Aunt Tuna called a _double _boiler, when the ones outside melted so easily?

The aromas floating through the kitchen were tantalizing, reassuring Harry that everything they were making, from the little fruit cakes to the peanut brittle, was going to taste delicious. They were still a long way from sorting things out into colored cellophane sheets to tie off with a ribbon and tag in little baskets for his friends but he was already feeling accomplished and proud, foreseeing their success.

It didn't hurt that some of the work was fun.

Peanut brittle was his favorite thing to help with so far. He got to grease the baking sheets, and anything which involved getting his hands covered in grease was officially alright with Harry, and then once Aunt Tuna determined that the mixture on the stove was finished she poured it onto the sheets and Harry waited for the _best_ part, sitting at the table with another task while watching the candy harden. When it was ready Aunt Tuna handed him a small wooden mallet with a stern warning to take it easy and not go overboard while breaking it up. _Whack smack crack!_ went the mallet and Harry considered that Dudley would be jealous if he knew.

The gingerbread they were making was also delicious.

"Stop eating them!" Aunt Tuna scolded. "Don't you at least want to decorate them first?"

Harry looked guilty and forced himself to nod, though really he could eat plain gingerbread all day, the way Dudley attacked nearly every snack placed in front of him. He savored the taste and closed his eyes in pleasure, kicking his feet under the table. Then he swallowed and tried to muster an apology. "It just tastes so good," he said instead of 'Sorry, Aunt Tuna.'

He thought he saw her lips twitch up before she frowned at him. "They'll taste better with frosting and candies on them. If you keep eating them plain then the only finished gingerbread men will be for the baskets going to other sugar-craving children. And executives," she muttered the last part to herself.

"I'll stop," he promised, though he intended to sneak more if he could. Perhaps if a cookie became accidentally broken. Or accidentally-on-purpose broken. "Do you do the other ones every year?"

"For your uncle's associates at work and their families, yes."

"So they're friends?"

She paused and got the look which meant she was going to try to explain something without giving Harry any ideas she wouldn't want him to have. He rarely recieved answers from her without that particular wrinkle between her eyebrows and pursing of her lips.

"An associate," Aunt Tuna said at last, "is a person to whom one is connected in a less personal capacity. Perhaps you can think of someone at school who you know and exchange pleasantries with but who is not actually your friend?"

"I try to be nice to everybody," Harry answered, watching her attentively.

"However you are not _friends_ with everyone, are you?"

That wasn't a very nice thought. He stilled for a moment as he considered his entire class at school. _Should_ he be friends with everyone? Well, he wasn't. Which suddenly seemed like something to be disappointed over but at least it meant there were only four baskets of goodies to prepare for Christmas - he couldn't imagine his Aunt Tuna agreeing to help him with fourteen of them.

"No," he finally admitted a bit sadly.

"You couldn't possibly be," she dismissed. "No one could," she added, trying to take the sting out of the truth. "Friends spend time together and care for each other's welfare. It would be impossible to maintain so many friendships at once. Time-consuming beyond all reason."

Harry silently added it to his list of 'impossible' things to do. It was placed after 'glow orange' and 'learn to fly.'

"However that doesn't mean we can't be pleasant with the people who we don't know as well as our friends. It's very important to have the good opinion of those around you. Particularly anyone who may affect your circumstances."

He looked at her blankly, bewildered.

Aunt Tuna took pity on him. "It's good to be nice to the people in charge of things," she restated as simply as possible. Then she smiled the way she did when greeting neighbors who she only pretended to like and went back to affixing sugared rosettes on a gingerbread girl's skirt with a satisfied smirk.

Considering her words, Harry thought that perhaps he should find a present for his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Tuna.

"There are a lot of baskets and tins," he observed.

"All in a season's work," she dismissed.

"But they'll be here until tomorrow night at least, right?" All of those pretty sweets, trapped in a house with Dudley. That didn't sound so good.

"Yes, I'll be passing them along all day tomorrow and the last of them will be delivered to your little friends when we go carolling."

"Dudley still doesn't want to go," he admitted.

"He might change his mind yet."

Harry seriously doubted that. He knew from past efforts that convincing his cousin to do anything he was already set against was a rough struggle to get into.

He had been pleasantly surprised when Aunt Tuna got off the phone one afternoon a few days before and announced that she and Linda's mother, Mrs. Spears, had just arranged to meet up for carolling with a group of neighbors. She even looked excited about it, as though refusing to tramp through the snow in the dead of winter would never even cross her mind.

He wasn't as surprised when Dudley declined to join them in favor of watching television.

"But Duddydumdrops," Aunt Tuna had pleaded, "your friends will be there. Don't you want to spend time with them?"

"Not outside," he denied her in a monotone, still staring at the screen.

"You play outside with Harry," she reminded him, gesturing towards the windows and the legion of snow angels the boys had left all across their lawn.

"Different."

"How?"

"Mummy, telly," Dudley had scolded in annoyance, batting his hand in a shooing motion.

Petunia sighed. "Perhaps you'll change your mind. You've a few days to consider it."

"Shhh!"

Harry had observed the warning look in his Aunt Tuna's eyes which hinted that although she wasn't saying anything, she was considering some mild retribution for the slight.

"Well," she said with a bright fake smile, "Harry and I can go and have a splendid time of it then, while you stay home with your father and Aunt Marge."

Dudley just grunted.

"How does that sound, Harry?" she asked rather loudly.

"Great," he had chimed up perkily. Not only would he get to see his friends and explore the neighborhood but he'd get to take a break from both his cousin's sour Santa-hating and his nasty Aunt Marge.

Aunt Tuna gave Dudley a pointed look, frowning when she saw that he wasn't even paying attention.

Days later, her bids for him to come along were no more successful.

"We should make him something special, too," Harry suggested as he eyed the goodies which were piling up. If Dudley was going to be in the same house as all the treats for over a day, they were in serious danger of being eaten before they could be delivered.

Petunia's face lit up in a rare moment of real pleasure in her nephew's company. "That's a very good idea, Harry. I'm sure Duddy Dumpkins will be happy to have such a nice surprise when he comes home. How thoughtful of you," she praised. It did not matter that she already had the same plans - she always appreciated seeing others treat her Duddydumdrops with especial care. If only the whole world could see him as the little prince he was.

"Perhaps you could come with me tomorrow and pick out something extra special to give to Duddy for Christmas," she ventured. "Wouldn't that be fun?"

Harry sat up very straight, chin up with pride. "I've gotten him a gift already."

Her cheer frayed away and her smile twisted into a grimace as she prayed, _Please, don't let him be stealing. The embarrassment might kill me._ "Oh?" she prompted, trying to hold on to the hope that _everything was fine_ and Harry was a _good boy, _most of the time - well, at least a _better_ boy than she'd always feared he was.

"A pack of gum. I traded _two whole frogs_ for it," he said with the same smugness one would use when announcing how much their new luxury car was worth.

Petunia was speechless for a moment. This was not an economic system she was prepared to understand but she assumed from the look on her nephew's face that this was considered a good trade. She decided to be magnanimous and not belittle the gift Harry had sacrificed two _whole_ frogs for, much as she would rather he not handle any amphibious creatures at all. "How nice of you," she managed, straining to smile politely.

Certainly, it was better than hearing he had traded a frog _and a half._

* * *

Vernon and Dudley returned in the evening, Dudley going ahead to open the door and announce their triumph as his father marched the tree into the house. Petunia turned off the news and rose to see how they had fared, hearing Harry come trotting down the stairs to meet them.

"I picked it out," Dudley trumpeted to his mother and cousin, puffing up like a pigeon.

"Well done, Duddydimples, it's a lovely tree," she cooed. If he had brought home a barren stump she would have said the same, with him standing there looking so accomplished. "We can decorate it after dinner."

"I helped make it," Harry announced, rocking on his heels as he observed the tree Vernon was attempting to wrestle into the waiting stand. It was a little taller than his uncle, its branches bright and trembling as it was settled into the corner of their living room.

"Did you?" Vernon queried, looking to his wife for reassurance that this wasn't true.

Petunia shrugged carelessly. "Willing hands are not to be wasted."

"I suppose," he agreed reluctantly.

"Harry was an excellent helper," Petunia defended tiredly. She'd been surprised by his willingness to see his commitment through without whinging about boredom or becoming frustrated.

Vernon fixed the tree and stepped back, letting the boys admire it as he drew Petunia to the side. "How bad was it?" he asked in a low murmur, speaking close to her ear so the boys wouldn't hear.

"Not at all," Petunia maintained, sounding impressed that she could say as much. She too had been expecting the attempt to be a harried disaster. "There were no complaints or broken dishes. He made a bit of a mess out of everything and ate almost as much gingerbread as he baked but all children do such things. Although for some reason he spent the first hour asking astronomy questions," she said with a note of confusion, looking to her husband for any possible answer.

"Ah. Well. Much better than something _less scientific,"_ he said meaningfully.

Her lips drew into a straight line. "Much."

"Perhaps he'll be an astronaut," Vernon joked, earning a reluctant smile from his wife as she rolled her eyes at the thought.

"God willing," she muttered.


	22. A Very Dursley Christmas Part 2

The tree was decorated just so, missing only two ornaments which Dudley had dropped and shattered. Petunia had been more worried about Harry handling the glass baubles but he had held them with a care and reverance that made her recall all of the Christmases when she had insisted he could only stand back and watch. She told herself that he was simply more mature than he once was and resolved not to regret keeping him away from the tree in the past.

Meals were planned and in order for the next week. Snacks were at the ready. The gifts wrapped beneath the tree were artfully arranged, in spite of Petunia having to continuously restack them as she liked after the boys would creep up and molest the packages, shaking and poking at them for hints. At least Harry was more apt to simply sit in front of the tree and admire the display, letting the gifts with his name on them sit where she set them once he realized that moving them over and over was frazzling his aunt's nerves.

Everything had to be perfect.

* * *

"Bwahahaha," Harry cackled, attempting to imitate the villains in Piers' comic books as he wielded a large icicle as his weapon. "This day will be your last," he grimly warned his opponent.

Dudley, flicking his green blanket cape over his shoulder, struck a pose similar to the boxing stances his father had shown him and scowled. "You haven't beaten me yet, Captain Cold!"

"Boys," Aunt Tuna called into the backyard, "come inside and get cleaned up. Your Aunt Marge will be here soon!"

Harry seemed to shrink an inch. "Great," he said dejectedly, "Aunt Marge."

"She brings presents," Dudley defended. Then he went over to Harry and quickly shoved him over, knocking him down. "And I win." He turned and hurried back in through the kitchen door, smirking at his victory.

Harry just sat in the snow for a moment, not in a hurry to join his family. On one hand, the Dursleys had all seemed to change at once, going from almost making him cry to often helping him laugh. Sometimes it seemed like they'd been replaced, or as Dudley would suggest, possessed by aliens. On the other hand, he didn't know if whatever had changed his family stretched out far enough to affect Aunt Marge, when she hadn't even been in Little Whinging.

Aunt Tuna opened the back door again, looking concerned and annoyed. "Harry? Are you alright?"

He got to his feet to show he was fine and called back, "Yes, Aunt Tuna."

She glared. "Then stop lollygagging and get inside! You shouldn't be sitting in the snow! It's not as if you're wearing snow pants. Do you want to be sick for Christmas? I won't have you sneezing at the table. Stop, you take off your boots at the door; you're not going to track dirt and snow all over my clean floor."

Harry trundled in, with her nagging following him all the way to the table where Dudley was drinking hot chocolate. He took off his plush new red coat and draped it over the back of his chair. It had been a pleasant surprise that his aunt had remembered him when she took Dudley in for his winter clothes shopping; normally he'd get Dudley's worn down things, which were too large on him to really keep the cold out. He hadn't known before that he could feel so warm while standing in the snow.

Aunt Tuna set a second cup of hot chocolate down in front of Harry. Crouching around the heat his drink was giving off, he compared the little marshmallows floating at the top of his drink to the ones nearly overflowing from Dudley's mug. It was one of Aunt Tuna's quiet ways of saying, 'I love you _this_ much,' and while another child might have been jealous Harry easily remembered that the previous winter he couldn't have expected the hot cocoa at all, even without any marshmallows in it. He took a cautious sip, trying not to burn his tongue on the sweet liquid and savored both the taste and the warmth he felt.

He'd forgotten; what did he care about Aunt Marge for?

Harry waited until his Aunt Tuna had left the kitchen, then he leaned over in his chair to be closer to Dudley's ear. "Time's running out. Any ideas for what to say to You-Know-Who?"

Dudley looked annoyed. "You're an idiot and I think there's something _extra_ wrong with your head. I keep saying no and you keep forgetting."

Harry drew back, a bit devastated by how thick his cousin insisted on being. "Dud, you've got to say _something._ You should at least say 'hi.'"

"He is not real," Dudley said slowly, quietly, not even wanting to think of how his mum would react if she heard them talking about a story as stupidly unbelievable as a fat guy with a flying sleigh who could fit down itty bitty chimney stacks. They might not get _any_ presents if his mum thought they'd give the credit to _Santa_. And Harry definitely wouldn't have any if she knew he was trying to get Dudley to write a letter to him.

"But Malcolm and Linda said-"

"No."

"And Gordon-"

"No."

"And _Chester-"_

"Who?"

"Malcolm's brother."

"Whatever."

"Even Amanda and Dennis-"

"And you listen to those freaks instead of me now," Dudley sniped indignantly.

"And Miss Beckett said so too! She's read us all those stories, and asked if we've finished our letters and she talks about him like he's real."

"Harry," he hissed, making a shushing motion.

"Because he is real," Harry finished stubbornly. "That's why everyone believes in him. But if you don't believe and you don't want to be nice to a person who brings presents to children just to make them happy then - then something's wrong with you, Dud." He huffed and sat back, looking angry and frustrated.

"I wish you were normal," Dudley said, and only felt a tiny bit bad about it when Harry flinched.

Harry sat back against the chair and crossed his arms. Sometimes he wished the Dursleys could be less 'normal' and more like everyone else.

Dudley rolled his eyes at his cousin's silence. "You're not completely terrible, alright?" he offered as an apology. "Just really, really, humongously stupid."

Then again even in the Howl family there was a monster who was completely unaware of his own magic, or the magic in anything else. He wished he knew why people couldn't _see._ He wished he knew how to _make_ them see, without having them react like his Aunt Tuna would.

"Anyway, Mummy and Daddy always get me whatever I want for Christmas, so who needs a make-believe man around? And remember, he eats people's sweets. Imagine getting up on Christmas and all the cakes and biscuits in the house are gone. What kind of gift is _that?"_

Perhaps he could wear a disguise like the superheroes in Piers' comics and show them all magic while he was in costume.

"Just a greedy old hog, really," Dudley judged.

He could fight crime and save kittens from trees. He liked kittens well enough - they weren't as mysterious as full-grown cats but they had the extra magic of being so cute that they made people stop and fuss over them, like tiny fairies in disguise working an enchantment over everyone they met.

"Now I want biscuits," his cousin said with a forlorn pout. "Mummy! I want more cocoa and some biscuits!" he hollered towards the living room.

"Coming, Duddydudkins!" Aunt Tuna trilled.

Harry wondered if Santa was actually a magical superhero with a secret identity. He was supposed to live at the North Pole but he could always have a summer home somewhere, living another life and answering to a different name.

"Would you like some too, Harry?"

He might even live in Surrey some of the time.

"Harry?"

Harry nodded, even though he wasn't really hungry anymore.

The differences between his family and the people he met or heard about everywhere else outside of Number 4 Privet Drive were starting to bother him. In his life at school he could be himself and no one was bothered by it, no matter how much he wanted to talk about elves, fairies or goblins. Then he went home and had to whisper about Santa and pretend that nothing which meant everything to him was real. He was Clark Kenting his way through life when he hadn't even learned to fly yet.

Why did everyone except his own family believe in good, beautiful things like flying sleighs and birthday wishes? Even if they didn't believe in all things magical, other people still trusted in wishes and Santa Claus and they feared ghosts. _Some_ types of magic were real to them, even if they wouldn't accept everything.

But for some reason the Dursleys wanted nothing to do with any of it.

* * *

Vernon was in high spirits when he came home from the train station with his sister, their arrival announced by the excited barking of her dog Ripper. They had been close growing up and as much as her teasing and bullying could wear on his nerves, he had missed her since her last visit.

Petunia greeted the woman with her best polite smile. "Marge, it's so nice to see you."

"Petunia dear," Marge returned, "how are you? And where's my little man?"

"Aunt Marge," Dudley called as he came in from the kitchen, not quite running. He'd still prefer a playroom over a guest room but he hugged his aunt, who always brought nice gifts for his birthday and Christmas. "Merry Christmas, Aunt Marge," he said with a smile when he pulled away, hoping the angelic tone that he was copying from the kids on tv might add an extra gift to his pile. He considered throwing in a 'god bless us everyone' but decided that was more appropriate for dinner.

"Dudley, my god, look at you," she laughed, holding his little shoulders in her powerful hands and leaning back to take in the sight of her nephew. "You've grown so much! Soon you'll be as large as your father."

"You think so?"

"Oh yes. It's the Dursley genes that are doing it. As little as your mother is I used to worry you'd be a beanstalk like her but you'll be a fine, strong lad afterall." She clapped him on the shoulder good naturedly, smiling at him with pride in her eyes as though she were responsible for his projected strength.

Feeling a tug at her skirt, Petunia glanced down to see Harry hiding behind her with a worried frown, his green eyes wide as he peeked around her to see Marge's antics. She understood the sentiment entirely.

"Ah," Marge said when she noticed Harry, and Petunia knew that Vernon had spoken with her before they arrived because Marge was many things but never hesitant. "And little Harry," she remarked with an unsure smile, then turned back to Dudley as though that had been more than enough to say where Petunia's nephew was concerned. "How have you been enjoying school, Dudley? Are you outsmarting the teachers yet?"

Dudley's expression soured. "I'm not enjoying it at all. It's _school."_

"Oh come now, surely you must have _some_ fun," she coaxed.

Petunia felt that tugging again and looked down, noticing the dog sniffing at Harry's feet. The boy seemed like he was on the verge of climbing her in order to get away from the little ankle biter. While Harry shivered at remembered nips to his fingers and the dog's fearsome name of _Ripper,_ she held back her own shudder at the thought of the little beast attacking her perfect Christmas tree, shredding presents or even - God in heaven above please spare her - whizzing on her nice clean floors.

She refrained from reminding her sister-in-law that she had insisted the dog could only visit with her in the summer, when he could be let outside. It was a battle already lost now that the animal was in her home, quietly chewing on the cuff of Harry's new jeans.

"Agh," Harry cried, jumping against his aunt when Ripper's wet nose pressed against his sock.

"Come away precious," Marge called obligingly, "that isn't your food, you know."

Petunia wasn't sure that the dog did know.

"Here now, Ripper baby, Mummy's got a treat for you." She went searching in her pocket and pulled out a plastic bag of dog biscuits. "Dudley, do you want to give it to him?"

"Duddy, you keep your hands away from his mouth," Petunia chided her son before he could even consider it.

Dudley gave her a mulish look, then rolled his eyes. "Sorry, Aunt Marge. _Mummy_ says no."

"Oh Petunia, you're being silly," Marge derided her, but went ahead and risked her own fingers to her dog's snapping jaws.

* * *

"Don't play with your food," Petunia scolded the boys at dinner in the sternest tone she had. She gave them both the eyes which said _not in front of company_ and hoped the old threat of a downsized Christmas could still work when they were only a few days away from celebrating.

The carrot stick sword fight came to a swift and quiet end.

She took a deep breath and counted her blessings. The food hadn't been insulted and so far, her sister-in-law hadn't brought up breeding, in spite of having gone through two glasses of wine and starting a third. She could get through this.

"Petunia, I notice your little nephew is finally growing too," Marge said, finding it easier to talk about the boy than to him. "No doubt he'll be eating you out of house and home soon," she teased.

"Would you like seconds, Marge?" Petunia asked pointedly.

"Don't mind if I do, thank you."

"I'm not going to eat the house," Harry said, quiet and bewildered.

"Of course not," Petunia agreed in a soothing tone she normally saved for Dudley. "We have more than enough to manage a household with two children. Vernon does very well at Grunnings," she directed at her sister-in-law.

"Oh yes. Just a shame one of those two isn't really yours."

"Hrm," Vernon interrupted, "Marge, remember what we discussed."

"Oh, yes, yes. Of course it's kind of you to try and accept a stray as one of your own. It's no use trying to pass a mottled mutt off as a purebreed but one does what one can." She smiled jovially, pleased with her generous statement.

Petunia gave the most glacial of her polite smiles. "Harry is still half-Evans, dear. It's just recently started coming through."

Harry looked between them warily. That had told him more about the Potter half of him than he'd ever heard before. Was it acting like his daddy that had meant he needed to live in the cupboard for so long?

"True, of course. It's just a shame about the father."

Petunia's visible tension lessened but her nephew sat up straight and glared. "What's a shame?" he demanded indignantly.

Marge looked at him as though she was surprised he was intelligent enough to have understood her words. "Oh," she demurred, "nothing for a child's ears, I'm sure." She turned back to her meal dismissively. "We'll just have to hope that the bitch had stronger genes than the stud," she addressed Vernon pointedly.

Petunia was immediately grateful for the confused look on Harry's face, as neither of her boys knew what their aunt had just said. That didn't quell her own ire, which she worked to restrain. "Marge," she appealed saccharinely, "it wasn't so long ago that Dudley came into the world. I'd rather you didn't compare _human_ parents with your beloved mongrels. It's very indelicate," _like everything else about you, you loathesome cow._

"Hah! Oh, Petunia darling, I'd never love _mongrels._ That's where your heart is stronger than mine," she said with a good natured smile, though her explanatory gesture to Harry set Petunia on edge.

_One week, _Petunia told herself. _Just one week. That's hardly any time at all. _ She forced herself to smile at the joke, nodding appreciatively, and took a sip of wine in case a grimace tried to escape.

It did help her nerves that Harry glared at the woman for the rest of the meal.

* * *

The next morning began with one of the battles in the great war Petunia had been saving her energy for.

"Petunia dear, why so much fuss over such a little thing? Let the boys have some fun."

"I could ask you the same question. They can have their play without you planting silly ideas in their heads."

"Silly ideas are what a childhood is made up of," Marge protested, frowning at her in disbelief.

Petunia wondered if this stubborn desire to entertain the children _her_ way came from latent guilt over the things she said in front of Harry after having too much wine. Not that Marge would ever admit to it. But suddenly it was _the boys,_ not just Dudley, who Marge was trying to impress.

"My children," Petunia said in a deliberate way, her voice low, "are going to grow up sensible."

Marge just rolled her eyes. "Petunia dear, putting a hat on the snowman isn't going to change that."

"It will if you insist on telling them that doing so will make it come to life!"

"Every child knows the song _Frosty the Snowman. _It hasn't sent the world into anarchy yet."

"I disagree," Petunia answered hotly, "there's more than enough chaos and danger to be found in the world resulting from people who go around with their heads full of nonsense."

"Mummy," Dudley interjected boredly before his aunt could retort, "if I put the hat and scarf on him without thinking he'll come to life, is that okay? Because only babies believe in Frosty the Snowman anyway."

Petunia clenched her jaw and steamed for a moment before nodding. "So long as you know it's only pretend," she dictated, turning to look directly into Harry's eyes when she said it.

Holding the carrot nose he'd retrieved from the refrigerator, Harry nodded, biting his lip disconcertedly as he met her gaze.

She sighed and relaxed a bit, realizing Harry wasn't going to listen to a word Marge said.

* * *

"Duddydumdrops, this is your last chance," Petunia wheedled later on Christmas Eve. She was standing in the doorway to the living room with her coat, scarf and mittens already on, Harry bundled up beside her. "Don't you want to see your friends?"

Dudley wrinkled his nose, turning from the television screen to stare at her. "I'll see them when I go back to school."

"But Duddydimples, don't you miss them?" she asked worriedly.

"I'm watching television," he said plainly, seeming to think that was an obviously more important use of his time than socializing.

"Go on love," Marge encouraged her, "we'll be fine."

_Fine._ Her son, husband and sister-in-law gathered around the television on Christmas Eve as though it were a Yule log. Of course that was fine.

"We should be back by ten," she snipped dismissively, letting go of the fight but not at all pleased.

"Be careful driving over, Pet," Vernon said with care.

She smiled for him and assured him that she would be. At least he had helped carry the baskets for Harry's friends to the car, which put him a few points ahead of anyone else in her living room.

Leaving with Harry, she was resolved to enjoy herself as much as she could without them.

* * *

After Petunia left, Marge leaned forward in her chair and winked when she caught Dudley's attention. "Now that your mother's gone, I have a spot of mischief for you. How would you like to open a present early?"

Dudley lit up. "Yes!" He bolted up and raced to the pile but his aunt caught his arm and shook her head, laughing.

"Not just any present, Dudley. One of the gifts I've brought for you."

"Which one?"

Marge pointed and his eyes followed along expectantly.

He deflated when he saw the thin package in green wrapping paper with the red ribbons. He already knew what _that_ one was.

"A book?" he asked her, his tone saying _you've got to be kidding me._

"Dudley," Vernon scolded disappointedly, "be gracious when someone gives you something."

Smirking at his reluctance, Marge grasped one of his hands and proposed a deal she knew he wouldn't refuse. "If you turn off the television, get ready for bed early and let me read it to you, I'll let you have a second gift too."

He considered the offer. If he said no then he would only have to wait until the next morning to get them anyway. But he'd been waiting _all year_ for Christmas to come and the suspense was driving him _mad._

The deal was struck.

* * *

"Where's Dudley?" was the first thing the Kemp boy, Gordon, asked when they arrived, and Petunia decided that she liked him quite a lot immediately.

"He's caught the sniffles," she excused her son with regret that was honest, and went about making nice with the other adults. She allowed Harry to fish the baskets he had worked so hard on from the car and pass them out himself, although she did feel a swell of pride at the happy exclamations of his little friends. They had stopped off at the Polkiss house on the way over and little Piers had been surprised but equally pleased to recieve his treats.

Harry checked to make sure he wasn't actually glowing. He had never felt more proud or satisfied than he was at that moment, being able to give something to the people who made his world so much fuller than it had been before he met them. Seeing that his arms were full, Malcolm closed the car door for him and Harry beamed.

"Sugar rush?" Malcolm asked, sensing his energy.

"Sugar rushes for _everyone!"_ Harry announced happily.

* * *

Aunt Marge usually brought him stories about dragons or witches or genies, things which made his mother shudder, books which ended up being taken away from him _for his own good,_ never to be seen again. He'd never forget the way Harry had cried with quiet misery when she confiscated _Where the Wild Things Are._

This book was definitely going in the 'gone forever' pile.

"A Santa story?" he sneered. "Aunt Marge, Santa's for _little_ kids. He's a _fairy tale."_

Sitting beside him on his bed, Aunt Marge didn't look at all embarrassed to be holding a book about visiting the North Pole. "Who's told you that?" she asked innocently, knowing very well _who._ She did her best to keep her Christmas cheer close and forget about her sister-in-law's absurd mission to raise a child with as little imagination as possible.

"Everyone in the whole universe who has a brain," Dudley retorted, throwing himself back against the pillows at his headboard. He'd been hoping to get comfortable and listen to a _nice_ story, maybe even one with aliens for a change, and instead he was getting more St. Nick garbage. Like everyday of December didn't have way too much of that already.

"You're insulting millions of people, Dudley," Marge scolded playfully. "I'd say it's just the opposite. Having belief in something magical takes a more open mind. It's the people who believe in Santa Claus who can think outside the box and they're the ones who will go furthest in life," she said smugly.

Dudley was still skeptical but he sat up and looked at the pictures when she opened _The Polar Express_ to the first page all the same.

"On Christmas Eve, many years ago, I lay quietly in my bed," Marge read to her nephew in a hushed tone. "I did not rustle the sheets. I breathed slowly and silently. I was listening for a sound - a sound a friend had told me I'd never hear - the ringing bells of Santa's sleigh."

She wished with all her heart that Dudley would someday listen for those bells too.


	23. A Very Dursley Christmas Part 3

When Christmas morning arrived Harry was the first to awaken. He had hardly slept under the weight of his excitement and before the light of dawn had even reached his room he found himself wide awake, his eyes searching the dark. He let his hand glow brightly to illuminate the shadows, looking for the gift he'd been waiting so long to see.

The room was as he had left it when he went to bed. He slowly wilted before realizing that of course, any gifts would be waiting for him underneath the tree.

He couldn't wait any longer to look, so in spite of the hour he hopped out of bed, deciding that if he'd woken up, it had to be more morning than it was night. He crept into the hall and down the stairs with his heart pounding, scarcely breathing as he stepped into the living room.

The number of gifts beneath the tree had exploded overnight. There was a brown stuffed dog sitting in front of the pile that was nearly as tall as him and a beautiful white bear perched on a big box beside it. The stockings that Harry and Dudley had hung on the mantle the night before had been filled with candy and toys.

Christmas had come but as he looked in the corners, behind the sofa, even behind the tree, he couldn't find what he was after. He wandered into the kitchen, bewildered, and upon finding it empty he felt his heart sink and went still.

His parents weren't anywhere in the house. Santa hadn't come.

_Maybe they'll be here later, _he decided. _Maybe they'll come during the day and use the front door._ He went back to the living room and looked out the windows just to make sure they weren't already there, waiting in the snow.

By the time Dudley came downstairs Harry was already happily snuggling with the white bear which had his name written on the tag that was attached to the green silk ribbon tied around its neck.

"The dog's for you," Harry told him sleepily, having waited over half an hour sitting on the couch watching the lights on the tree. He wasn't about to be the one who woke the household but neither could he draw himself away from the sight.

Dudley smiled from ear to ear, eyeing up the gift pile greedily. He was clutching a stuffed dragon beneath one arm which Harry hadn't seen before.

"Did Santa bring that for you?"

He snorted. "Aunt Marge gave him to me last night. His name's Smoke," Dudley introduced with great pride, holding him up for Harry to see. Smoke was a dark green dragon with golden scales on his belly that reflected the lights from the Christmas tree, sending specks of light and color across Harry's spot on the couch.

"Hi Smoke," Harry greeted the dragon politely.

"He's going to be Sir Dudley's pet," Dudley told him, and Harry knew that if the highest ranking knight in Dudley's army of toys was going to be Smoke's new owner, his cousin must _really_ like him.

Going back to the bottom of the stairs, Dudley hollered at the top of his lungs, "Mummy! Daddy! It's time to get up, it's _Christmas!"_ He shifted impatiently, wishing that they would hurry up, it was almost _daylight_ outside.

It was nearly ten minutes before the adults stumbled downstairs, Petunia smiling at her cherub adoringly in spite of his scowl. "Happy Christmas, Diddydudkins," she cooed. Then she saw the dragon in his arms and paused, her smile slowly melting away in her confusion.

"Aunt Marge gave him to me last night," Dudley explained with a clear challenge in his posture. "His name's Smoke."

"Lovely," Petunia managed with a small upwards twitch of her lips, willing to let it go for the moment. However Marge would certainly be hearing about it later.

Ripper came scampering down the steps with his owner, in a hurry to have his morning walk in the snow. Marge slipped her winter coat on over her robe, taking the leash out from one of the deep pockets and hooking it to his collar. He barked at her and she smiled even as she prepared to step out into the cold wearing her slippers at not quite six in the morning for him. "Merry Christmas, Dudley. Back in a flash," she promised, letting the biting cold into the house when she stepped out.

"Tea?" Vernon asked blearily as he came downstairs.

"Presents," Dudley insisted.

"Tea and presents," Petunia compromised gracefully. "Why don't you pick something out and open it in the kitchen while I get the kettle going?"

_"Yes,"_ Dudley celebrated, rushing to the pile and going for the largest gift he could find.

"Something small enough to carry," she called to him.

With his determination, Dudley would have been able to carry an entire sack of coal out to the kitchen. The great size and weight of the box couldn't stop him.

"Harry," she said when she noticed him sitting on the couch, watching his cousin, "why don't you pick something too? You can read the tags so you know which ones are yours."

He smiled brightly and padded over to pick through the gifts too.

When the boys joined them in the kitchen moments later, she wasn't surprised to see Dudley had somehow hauled his best present onto the table and had half-unwrapped the wooden castle for his knights to play in.

"Awesome," he approved with glee, perching Smoke atop the box and examining the pictures on the sides.

Harry looked on curiously at the display of what he knew would be Sir Dudley and Sir Harry's newest battleground. Then he regarded the gift he had picked with a sense of contentment, admiring the little teddy bears and drums printed on the red paper. The package was thin and floppy and he wondered if it was a new coloring book or a real book that he could read.

"If you don't open that," Dudley said without looking at him for more than a half second, "I'm going to tear the paper off for you. And then it'll be mine."

The answer was a loud ripping of wrapping paper, as Harry believed the threat entirely.

"Already started?" Marge asked when she came in with Ripper, mocking offense.

"I got a castle," Dudley told her, kneeling on the seat of his chair and bouncing a bit. "I got a _castle,"_ he crowed. "Now Sir Dudley has an army and a dragon and a kingdom. And next he'll mount an attack and take over the world."

She laughed at his planning. "That's the ambitious Dursley spirit," she praised, ruffling his hair as she walked passed to sit beside him at the head of the table. "And you, Harry?" she asked to be polite.

"Sir Harry will defend the world with his dark army," he answered distractedly, buried in his new book. The white bear was perched in his lap and he held the pages as though he was showing them to his new stuffed friend.

"I meant what did you get, dear?"

He frowned. Aunt Tuna dropped the occassional 'dear' on him and it made him feel kind of warm. Hearing Aunt Marge say it felt just wrong, knowing what she thought of his father.

But she was Uncle Vernon's sister, so he closed the book to see the title again. "The Snow-why Dah-why - _Day,"_ he corrected himself.

"Snowy," Vernon repeated for him, but he looked pleased with Harry's efforts. "Why don't you read it for us while we wait?"

Puffing up with pride, Harry was happy to oblige. When Petunia set out the scones she had ready, freshly heated and buttered, he pretended not to notice so that he could continue working through his new book without having to stop and put it away to avoid getting the pages dirty as he ate.

"Crunch, crunch, crunch, hiss feet san-kuh into -"

"Sank," Vernon said patiently, only half paying attention as he finished eating the small breakfast that had been prepared to be rushed through, in anticipation of Dudley's impatience.

"-sank into the snow," Harry read stiltedly with a peaceful expression, kicking his feet beneath the table.

"Are you done yet?" Dudley demanded of everyone.

"Oh, Duddums. I suppose," Petunia relented, standing from the table.

Dudley grabbed Smoke with one hand and Harry's arm with the other, yanking him out of his chair so hard that his new book nearly tore in his hands. Harry breathed in relief at his luck in not damaging it and clung onto the book and his bear as he was dragged back into the living room

What followed was a manic path of destruction as Dudley systematically tore through one gift after another, delegating Harry to do the same with his own presents whenever he noticed the other boy was pausing too long. Dudley unwrapped a box with both his and Harry's names on the tag to find plastic swords and he cheered, tossing one to his cousin.

Flinching back from the projectile, Harry blinked down at it, feeling a little overwhelmed by the whole ritual. He had unwrapped a light-up game named Simon, a soft green sweater with white snowflakes scattered across the front and a new coloring book with a Christmas tree on the cover. Suddenly reminded, he crawled to the back of the pile and got out the folded papers he had hidden so that they wouldn't ruin Aunt Tuna's display. Escaping from Dudley's single-minded madness, he went to the couch where his aunt and uncle were sitting, watching the gift paper fly through the air with amusement.

He interrupted their entertainment by giving them each a quick hug, darting in fast and then retreating in a sneak attack of gratitude. "Thank you, Aunt Tuna. Thank you, Uncle Vernon."

"Don't you want to finish opening your gifts before you say that?" Vernon asked jokingly, feeling that the holiday was a job well done for at least one of the boys as he assessed the sincere joy in Harry's eyes.

"I made you something," Harry decreed, holding out the folded papers that had been sealed with a little tab of tape. One read Unkl Vernin, while the other was a bewilderingly perfect Aunt Tuna. "I asked Miss Beckett how to spell your name," Harry explained at his aunt's look. "But I forgot to check Uncle Vernon's. Did I get it right?"

"Not quite." Petunia felt an itch of annoyance. "You told her that my name was Aunt Tuna?"

"Uh huh!"

She just didn't have the heart to rebuke him for it. Unfolding the paper she smiled as she saw the overly colorful poinsettia, colored in bright fuschia, royal purple and scarlet. "It's lovely Harry, thank you."

"You're a good boy," Vernon added, trying not to question why the snowman in his picture was blue, standing beneath an orange sky. He felt particularly suspicious of the purple dog who was playing in the blue snow.

Proud of himself, Harry went back to what was left of the gift pile, finding that Dudley had decimated most of it while his back was turned. He had to step carefully to avoid the boxes of Hot Wheels cars scattered in front of his cousin.

Holding Smoke in his lap, Dudley regarded him with hints of sanity returning to his eyes. He held out a small package wrapped in blue paper with a silver bow on the front. "This one," he demanded. "It's from me."

Dumbfounded, Harry accepted the gift carefully. "But I only got you a pack of gum," he mumbled, feeling unprepared.

"That's because you're an idiot," Dudley dismissed. "I'm used to it. Now open it!"

Starting to wonder if Dudley's gift for him was really a gift for Dudley, Harry carefully tore into the paper, knowing that his slowness drove his cousin spare. He just ignored the growls of annoyance.

"Oh," he exclaimed when he saw what it was, because Dudley had gotten him something that only he would want, that he probably wasn't even supposed to have under Aunt Tuna's watch. "Wow."

Petunia gave her husband a stern look.

"Dudley insisted," he murmured defensively, "I couldn't convince him to buy anything else."

"What is it dear?" Marge asked.

"A troll," Harry exclaimed happily, not even caring that it was Marge who asked. "Dud, _thank you,"_ he gushed, knowing the storm that was about to fall on them both in exchange for being able to hold his very own troll. Malcolm had a whole pile of them in his playroom and Harry had played with their strange, fluffy hair wistfully, knowing that his aunt would never allow such a whimsical toy into her home.

And Dudley hadn't just dared to bring home _any_ troll - this was a happy orange haired _wizard_ smiling up at him with rosy cheeks, wearing a dark purple cap and robe that had shiny loops of gold embroidery around the hems and a bright gold star on his chest. Harry melted at the happy face of his new toy, who was supposed to be a symbol of the same sort of magic he lived with and dreamed about.

"Told you so," Dudley said to his father, observing Harry's rapture over the ugly little doll.

"Well, he's certainly a charming thing, isn't he Petunia?" Marge asked, knowing that the woman couldn't be too pleased.

Shaken from his bliss, Harry looked up to face his aunt with pleading eyes, wishing as hard as he could that she would let him keep his wizard troll.

Petunia's frown was severe and her eyes were hard.

"Knights need wizards to fight against," Dudley put in, having already thought his excuses out. "There has to be something to defend the kingdom from. All of Sir Dudley and Sir Harry's men know that they're really friends, so that's no fun anymore."

Harry frowned at that. His dark army was fearsome and without mercy. They attacked dinosaurs and teddy bears alike. But if a hit to the great black knight Sir Harry's reputation was what it took to keep the troll, he'd take it quietly.

"Petunia dear," Marge entreated, "you can hardly take away a child's Christmas gift."

She took a slow, deep breath, eyeing them both grimly. "We'll see," she said.

"Petunia!"

"Marge, if you will please stay out of the matter I would appreciate being allowed to handle my own household," she snipped icily.

"Now darling," Vernon said quietly, "it's my fault, really. When Dudley wouldn't give in, I let him have his way. No need to upset the boys just because he wants a - a - _thing,_ in his castle, for the knights to fight."

To _fight _with. As though Harry wasn't looking at the damned thing like he'd found a new best friend.

"Harry," Petunia started, "I'll give you two options."

"Yes?" he asked timidly.

"You will turn the doll over to me and I can either take him back to the store and find you something more appropriate or take away his absurd clothing and knit him something new."

"Is this really necessary?" Marge asked incredulously.

"Yes," Petunia replied, firmly dismissive.

"New clothes," Harry chose quickly. "And I can keep him then?"

She gave a stiff nod.

He cried out in triumphant joy and hugged the packaged doll tightly to his chest.

Dudley smiled. He had made his cousin happy and gotten one over on his mother in one fell swoop.

Clearing his throat, Vernon spoke up from his awkward position between the two Dursley women, trying to ignore the rising tension. "Have you boys decided on names for your new little friends?" he asked, gesturing to the stuffed dog and polar teddy bear.

"Ace," Dudley answered easily, not expecting anyone besides Harry to get the reference. His cousin considered the big plush German Shepherd for a moment before nodding in approval at naming him after the Bat-Hound.

"And you Harry?"

"I'm not sure," he said thoughtfully. He retrieved the white bear from the floor and held him, looking into the bear's bright blue acryllic eyes. "I'll name you Jack," he decided with an affectionate smile.

"Jack?" Dudley challenged as he searched out the last of his presents, plainly unimpressed.

"Like Jack Frost!"

"Jack Frost isn't real," Petunia interjected in a warning tone.

"Oh for God's sake Petunia, how daft do you think he is?" Marge demanded, huffing in exasperation.

"I am just trying to raise him with a firm sense of reality. As I am with Dudley. It is not just my right but my responsibility as a mother," she retorted, face sour with disdain.

Harry held Jack and his little troll close as he retreated to stand with Dudley, who had finally worked his way down to the last present. He wondered why his cousin was just standing there frowning at it and then he read the tag.

It was a gift from Santa.

And when he announced that, all hell broke loose.

* * *

"Why must you constantly undermine me?" Petunia demanded. "He is not your son! You have no son! You should just stick to your dogs!"

"I didn't leave the gift," Marge still insisted, her careless expression looking hard around the edges. "You read the tag, Petunia. It's from _Santa."_

"How dare you mock me like this in my own home?"

Marge stepped closer, suddenly passionate in her fury. "How dare I? Don't you ask how _I_ dare to do anything, Petunia. How dare _you_ behave like this with your own family? How dare you tell a little boy that there isn't any Santa Claus and threaten to take a child's Christmas gift away? What sort of young men do you think you're going to raise with the way you act?" she demanded, bellowing.

"Good ones, who keep their feet on the ground and stay out of trouble! Why can't you understand that? Too much brandy slipped into your morning tea, perhaps?"

Marge snarled and took another menacing step forward but her retort never made it passed her lips because at that moment Petunia lost what was left of her temper and _shoved._

Petunia Dursley was a little woman, a mouse attempting to topple a giant tomcat, but Marge stepped back just enough to get one of the Hot Wheels cars Dudley had opened caught beneath her heel. Slipping as the car rolled forward, she stumbled backwards and fell with a great crash that shocked everyone into complete stillness, watching the tree shake from her impact with its base, ornaments raining down to roll or shatter on the floor around her. Dudley winced on behalf of both his aunt and the gifts she had just crushed, his mouth hanging open in horror at how wrong things had just gone.

"Marge!" Vernon called, rushing to her side.

Trembling at the unexpected violence of her own action, Petunia held a hand to her heart. "Vernon, help her up," she instructed.

"Oh no," Marge groaned as she sat up painfully, "don't bother yourself."

He ignored the scoffed dismissal, helping her stand and looking her over in concern. "Are you alright?" he demanded anxiously.

"Fine, fine. Nothing broken except a little of my pride and a dozen or so of Petunia's hideous ornaments. Really, who hangs an orange and green ball on the tree?" she asked facetiously, sounding winded.

"There's no need to insult my home," Petunia snapped, some of her regret dissolving.

"Oh god my boat's in half," Dudley wailed, ignoring them both completely. He sank to his knees in the wreckage, holding the little wooden yacht in two hands, looking between the halves despairingly.

_"Your_ home," Marge repeated with a roll of her eyes. She was well and truly sick of her sister-in-law's imperial rule. "Your family, your children, your _eccentric_ rules for all three. Tell me, what does Vernon decide?"

"Marge," her brother spoke up beside her, "that isn't right. Pet and I make our parenting decisions together."

"Are you sure, Vernon? That not how it looks."

"Who cares how it looks to you?" Petunia bit out. "You have nothing to do with it."

Marge's face darkened with anger. "Stop acting like a stubborn cow, Petunia. If you would look at your children - _aah,"_ she cried out in surprise and pain, looking down to see that the other Evans in the room had made use of his new playsword to crack her on the shin. She gazed at the little urchin with disbelief.

Harry glared up at her resolutely. "Aunt Tuna's _not_ a cow," he said, "she's a _fish."_ His Aunt Tuna wasn't always nice or right or kind, but she was still his family and he wasn't going to let someone who badmouthed his father talk about his aunt like that too. Next she'd be saying that Dudley had bad genes, because apparently she didn't like Potter men _or_ Evans women, and if he ended up with his new sword being taken away as punishment for defending his entire family's honor, it was worth it.

Vernon scooped him up from the floor just in time for his sister's swipe to miss the child.

"Now, Marge," he began soothingly.

"Get out of my house," Petunia demanded, the attempt to cuff Harry tipping her over the edge. Her nostrils were flaring like Puff the Magic Dragon's, and Harry wondered if she was about to breathe fire.

Marge fumed indignantly before turning to face her brother, ignoring Petunia and the boy who was simply hanging in her brother's arms, scowling at her. "Vernon, this is how you handle your family? Wife and children behaving like animals and you're going to let them cast out your only sister?"

Vernon frowned in miserable disapproval. He couldn't win no matter which Dursley woman he sided with. "Marge, you did just _insult_ my wife and children."

"Vernon," Petunia snapped, "enough of this. I want that woman removed from my home before the count of twenty, do you understand me? One," she said ominously.

"Hem," Vernon muttered uncomfortably. He set Harry down on the coffee table where the boy wouldn't tempt Marge's feet into kicking him and he knew that Petunia was serious when she didn't even mention the sanitation of or strain on the polished wood. She just looked at him, her blue eyes alive with anger. Her arms were crossed and taut with the force of her self-restraint.

If he didn't remove Marge, there would probably be more violence.

"The tree," Dudley mourned. His lime green _Baby's First Christmas_ ornament was in pieces before him.

"No need to toss me out," Marge thundered. "Now that you've ruined Christmas for everyone, Petunia, I've no reason to stay."

* * *

Dudley's shock was wearing off by the time he heard Aunt Marge slam the front door. He looked away from the wreckage of his Christmas and glared at his mother venomously.

Hardened by her resolve to win the battle, Petunia only frowned at him. "We'll replace whatever was broken, Duddims."

He dropped his splintered plane and watched as his mother winced slightly at the crashing sound of it hitting the floor. Then he bent to retrieve his dragon, scooping it into his arms and cradling it protectively as his snarled lips trembled against the instinct to cry.

"At least Smoke is okay," Harry offered meekly, jumping down from the coffee table to assess the toy's health.

"Shut up," Dudley snapped at him with a harsh look of reproach. He took a wide sidestep away from his cousin just to make sure the message was clear.

"Duddy dear," his mother said coaxingly, her face softening at last.

"You've ruined Christmas!" he half-shrieked at her.

"I haven't," she denied. "We can still have a perfectly nice day."

"You've wrecked the tree! Aunt Marge hates us now and Daddy won't get to spend any more time with her because of you. My presents are all broken," he said as he began to blubber, hugging Smoke to his chest as one of the precious survivors of the tragedy.

Harry refrained from pointing out that most of his cousin's things were actually just fine.

"Oh, Duddydums," Petunia said in alarm, approaching her child with her hands held out to him.

Dudley stepped back, shaking his head and managing a sneer of disgust through his tears. "No. _No._ It's your fault everything's gotten wrecked. You always ruin things! You're crazy and everyone thinks so. None of my friends have mums like you. You go through my stuff and steal things that are mine and change the channels on me and now I can't even have all my presents because you hate that I might play pretend like -" _Harry,_ he very nearly said, and choked on it at the very last moment.

"Like everyone. Everyone normal," he amended bitterly. He raised his chin up and looked at her with defiance, though he was still fighting back tears. "But I don't _want_ to be a freak like you."

Harry had stood watching them both warily, waiting for more fireworks to go off but when his volatile cousin whirled on him he leaned back away from him, eyes wide at the sudden switch in his attack.

"And you're on her side," Dudley said. "You," he repeated incredulously. Then his face screwed up in revulsion as he observed Harry, the word 'traitor' clearly shining in his eyes. "You're not my cousin anymore," he declared savagely, and the hurt in his voice was the only clear warning before he ran for the stairs to hide in his room.

Petunia did not even have time to say 'oh my' before a pitiful whimpering sound came from her nephew.

Harry heard an awful keening sound when he tried to speak, and he clenched his fists in front of his chest as though he could push the entire day away from himself. He just wanted to go back to the day before and stay there.

"He didn't mean that," Petunia tried to reassure him, hoping she could comfort at least one child.

Staring at the carpet with a look of dismay, Harry sniffled. Of course Dudley meant it. Aunt Tuna didn't know him like Harry did - maybe didn't even know him at all. Harry had betrayed him by siding with the person who cancelled Halloween and forbid birthday wishes - it couldn't have been worse if he had sworn loyalty to an alien king in the middle of an invasion. Knowing this, he really couldn't help it when he started choking on air and gasped out a sob of distress.

"Harry," Petunia intoned, kneeling down beside him with a moue of sympathy. He eyed her briefly, hiccupping on his tears, before backing up a step and then bolting up the way Dudley had gone, taking the route twice as fast as his cousin could.

The living room felt incredibly empty as Petunia listened to him stamping up the stairs and down the hall to his room. There was the slamming of a door and the distant noise of him running in his room, then absolute quiet.

Petunia rested her hands in her lap, her shoulders falling as she sank down, staring at the sofa with a frown of consternation. She worried the fabric of her skirt between her fingers and her eyes slowly crept over the room before her - Duddy's discarded toys, the family pictures on the wall, the mistletoe and bells hanging in the doorway.

She dully considered having a glass of brandy during the lull in family chaos.

* * *

Harry gasped for air like a drowning victim as he leaned against his bedroom door, trying to distract himself. He'd thought he was doing the right thing but things had gone so wrong, as they always used to with the Dursleys, except now the only person who wasn't upset with him was his aunt. Aunt Tuna who hated magic and _how_ had he thought that picking her side over Dudley's had been a good idea, even if it was because of stupid, evil Aunt Marge?

Evil Aunt Marge who was the only Dursley who believed in _Santa_ and that felt even worse than having none of them on magic's side at all.

Wiping his eyes on his sleeves he hurried to the comfort of his bed, throwing himself on the mattress and pressing his face against the pillow in a bid to stuff up his crying.

When he buried his hands underneath his pillow he lifted his face with a frown as he felt them brush against a piece of paper. Sniffling as he moved the pillow to look, he saw a thick envelope the color of cream with 'To Harry' written on it in green ink. There were sprigs of holly drawn in the corners and Harry wondered who on earth would give him a Christmas card in secret like this. Dursleys were all about making a showing when they gave people gifts.

Sitting up to examine it, his breath was caught again as his mind began to clear to address the mystery. Would Santa send an 'I'm sorry' card for not being able to fulfill his wish? Or maybe an explanation?

_Or maybe a meeting time,_ he thought as he tore the envelope open with desperate hands. At that moment he wanted to be with his parents more than ever.

A letter came out, printed with large neat letters that he could read easily. 'Merry Christmas' was a phrase that seemed to be written all over the world lately and Harry could spell his own name backwards. He was distracted from the rest of it by the picture that fell out, fluttering facedown to the blankets.

He froze, transfixed, his heart in his throat. His fingers trembled faintly as he slowly reached out to flip it up, eager but afraid of being disappointed. He held the edge firmly and took a moment to spend on pure wishing before turning it over.

It was a picture was taken outside, snow falling all around a happy couple as they stood close together, bundled up in red and gold striped scarves to keep warm. He knew his mother at once, though she was older in this picture than any other he had. Her fire hair and sparkling green eyes, the curve of her nose and shape of her smile; these were all familiar pieces he knew fit together to make 'Lily.' He had traced them with his eyes for months.

The man standing with his arm draped over her shoulders was tall and spare, with wild black hair, hazel eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses and a cocky tilt to his grin. Harry's fingers hovered above the man's chest, afraid to touch the image in case it disappeared. He looked playful and mischievous, like a child about to commit a prank. Harry wondered just how old they were, as he'd never seen an adult look so carefree, smiling as though it would be more work not to.

He'd been imagining answers upon finally seeing his parents but while a few of his biggest questions were answered - this was his father and yes, Harry did look like him at least a little bit and yes, his parents must have been in love to be so happy just standing in each other's presence and yes, his parents had magic too -

His mind was overloaded with elation and a rush of new questions because it was true, this wonderful thing he'd barely allowed himself to hope for. His parents were magic. They were monsters or fairies or witches or someone's fairy godparents because the picture was moving, they were smiling and waving, his father just _winked,_ and their scarves were blowing in the wind as the snow came down in heavy flakes and melted in his parents' hair.

"Like me," he said, breath short with wonder.


	24. Declarations!

**Dear Readers,** you are incredibly awesome, super fantastic and wonderful. Thank you all so much.

* * *

Chapter 24: Declarations!

Vernon came home to find Petunia sitting on the couch with a photo album lying open across her lap, a glass of wine sitting on the stand beside her. He looked over her shoulder and saw a portrait of Dudley at two, sitting tangled in gold tinsel and ribbons with a cheerful smile on his cherubic face. "Simpler days," he commented.

"I am sorry, Vernon," she said.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he lied easily, trying to sound light. "Marge just can't understand the way we do things." His expression fell as he thought of his sister's anger and devastation. She did truly want what was best for Dudley.

"She shouldn't have to understand," Petunia maintained in a dull voice, sure that she was right but so very tired. "I don't go about questioning other parents on the way their children are raised."

Vernon walked around to sit beside her and heaved an exhausted sigh. "This is her family too, Pet. She and I were raised with all of the usual children's stories and silly myths. It can't be easy for someone who doesn't know why we're so careful to see the point in it all."

She turned away from a picture of Dudley playing in a pile of wrapping paper to look her husband in the eyes, staring into them with the fire of accusation. "Why did you go against me?" she demanded. "How could you let him buy that - that _wizard,"_ she snarled, "for Harry?"

"Pet, he was determined."

"He's a child! You could have said no."

He looked at her skeptically, wondering if _she_ could have avoided walking out of the store with a troll doll. "How often do we say 'no' to Dudley, love? He's all we have."

She was silent, glaring. It had been a long wait, just her and the remains of the holiday. She had swept and vacuumed up the broken ornaments, tossed out the discarded wrapping paper, ribbons and boxes and made neat stacks of the opened presents on the floor and coffee table, lining up little cars where they could not be stepped on again. Dudley's new broken toys were in the cupboard under the stairs, where she wouldn't have to deal with them.

There had been far too much to think about, with the upstairs silent and the rest of her family driving away from her.

"Do you agree with her?"

"Of course not," Vernon said immediately, shocked at the suggestion. "I know why we need to stay cautious, Pet." He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. "We're doing the right thing," he promised.

"He thinks I'm making him a freak," she revealed, covering her mouth with her free hand as she heard her voice cracking with emotion. "He says that he's not normal because of me," Petunia carried on, her voice going higher. "That everyone is _talking,_ saying there's something wrong with us."

"Who's talking?" he demanded.

"I don't know. The children at school, their parents, his teachers - Vernon, they're _saying things_ about our family."

This was the last thing either of them wanted. It went against the entire purpose of keeping the M-word out of their home and hushing up Harry's secret. It was well and good to keep their nephew away from funny-thinking, so that he wouldn't fall in with the wrong crowd, but their precautions weren't worth suffering _rumors._

"Perhaps," he ventured, "we should be more open to compromise. Keep things a bit more subtle. For Dudley's sake."

She sighed. "He's disowned Harry already, for that little display with the sword. I might be next."

Vernon scoffed. "That fight won't last the day," he predicted surely.

"You didn't see how angry he was, Vernon."

"I know how angry Marge was," he told her, "but she still hugged me goodbye at the station. Just give them a chance to work through it, Pet."

* * *

According to the Dursleys, if you can't see and touch it, it isn't real. Harry now had his proof that _magic_ was real, something he could not only hold in his hands but show to others so that they wouldn't have any way of denying it. Part of him wanted very badly to believe that if he could give his family proof that magic wasn't nonsense or make believe, they would stop hating it.

But as he sat on his bed staring down at it, he knew that he could never share the picture. He had waited all his life to see his parents and he wouldn't risk having the photo taken from him by anyone. It had to be kept safe and secret, no matter how much he wished he could trust someone else with it.

He hid it in his Lily Book behind the picture of his mother and her dark-eyed best friend catching fireflies, making sure that the edges couldn't be seen beneath it. Even when he left the photo album laying out in the open Aunt Tuna would often avert her eyes from it, so he knew she wouldn't go looking through it, but sometimes Dudley would flip through the pages.

Hugging the book to his chest, he took a deep breath. The world had changed. His shadow mysteries didn't compare to something he could hold in his hands and observe the magic in without even trying. He didn't need to close his eyes and concentrate in order to make his parents smile and wave, they were brimming with magical energy and moving about all on their own. He wondered if that was because the picture held a little piece of someone magical or if it had its own enchantment.

Maybe this was why Aunt Tuna didn't want photos of him around the house. She might be afraid that one day they'd start moving.

_That'd mean she already knows magic is real._

He shuddered at the thought. If his parents had been magic, then Aunt Tuna might have known all about it. The real reason for trying to keep it out of their home could be that she hated it, as she used to hate Harry.

His eyes going wide, he realized something which he hoped with all of his heart wasn't true.

_She hated me for coming from magic. She hates the _magic_ in me. No, no, no,_ he repeated to himself, closing his eyes tight as he tried to think of anything else.

* * *

Dudley regretted leaving his stocking full of chocolates downstairs in his retreat. He was trying to work up the nerve to go down and retrieve it in a dignified way, without having to talk to anyone. He wished he could send Harry down, since he always made less noise and was much better at sneaking, but he wasn't prepared to take back what he'd said about them not being cousins anymore.

It was much better to think of the abandoned truffles and malt balls than to consider any of that. He hadn't even dug to the bottom of the stocking yet and there might be ribbon candy waiting for him. In the rush to open his gifts he hadn't eaten much breakfast either.

_All those toys stuck downstairs with them._ And one box that hadn't even been opened yet. _Couldn't_ be opened.

He guessed that they'd be getting rid of the television soon, or something that was just as crazy and unthinkable, because he had really said it all to his mother. Everything he'd been feeling for months had just come out and now, maybe they'd even take the gifts he'd already opened back to the store in revenge.

He firmed his wobbling lip, hugging Smoke defiantly. If that was what they wanted, he wasn't going to let it happen without a fight but he wouldn't be caught _begging_ them not to do it either.

_I should send Harry down to get things._

He glared at his wall fiercely.

_Never talking to him again. Never._

He thought of playing armies without having any Sir Harry to fight, the dark army standing idle with no one to command them. Taking half their friends at school and having the other half stay with his ex-cousin. He wasn't sure who would have who, since even though Harry was an idiot baby all their friends liked him. He'd have to go over to Piers' house alone. And maybe he could still make Harry do things for him, like fetch snacks, but it wouldn't be the same.

The thought of not being family anymore should have felt a lot less sad, after Harry had betrayed him. But even right after, when Harry had come rushing up the stairs and Dudley heard him crying in his room, he felt a tiny stab of guilt and regret for what he had said.

Not that he was sorry enough about it to change his mind.

_Let him be the sorry one_, he thought vindictively. _He's the one who turned on me, not the other way around._

His stomach grumbled and he huffed in frustation. He couldn't wait much longer before giving in and going downstairs to face whatever madness his parents were going to cause next.

_Wish I could send him for some gingerbread._

* * *

It took a long time for Harry to remember that there were a lot more people in the world than just his aunt and uncle. Then it was even longer for him to remember why that mattered, when the Dursleys were the only family he had whether he was really a Potter or not.

He still had friends. The world had other monsters - other people who had magic just like him. He wasn't really alone. Keeping the Lily Book pressed to his heart, he remembered that Santa Claus was another person with magic, watching over him even when he was sleeping.

He could still be wrong. Aunt Tuna might not know that magic was real at all. Or she did but Uncle Vernon didn't. Or they both did but maybe they just didn't _understand_ it. Or anything, really, that would mean they didn't hate something inside of him that made him who he was because that idea made him feel like he might sick up_._

If he talked to them about magic, proved it was real, and it turned out that they _knew_ and _hated_ it, then hated _him_ (again), he might be locked up and left alone with just the whispering shadows once more.

_But she loved Mummy. She did. Even though Mummy was magic so maybe she can still lo- like me too._

He knew he couldn't hide forever, not even if he wore a mask once he started being a superhero and flying to the moon and working with Santa. He knew that even Batman had people find out who he was sometimes and Harry wasn't a wealthy grown-up with a Batcave to hide in or a butler to make excuses for him. So he had to assume, no matter how much it made his chest hurt and his eyes burn, that his aunt and uncle would someday find out and might not want anything to do with him afterward.

He could try to make them like him as much as possible until then, so that maybe they wouldn't care about his magic, but there was still a chance that next week or next June or three years from then, they would suddenly stop being nice to him and he'd have to go back to living in the cupboard.

He told himself that was fine, even though it wasn't. There was still the rest of the world to make friends with and in a little over ten years he'd be a grown-up and could go live on his own in a treehouse in the park. He could go flying with the birds everyday and take honey from his very own beehive and all his friends would come visit him. He'd search for elves with Linda and go ghost hunting with Malcolm and they would all have so much fun that he'd never even think about his aunt and uncle.

And he'd tell Dudley everything all over again, only by then he'd be so good at magic that he'd be able to turn pumpkins into coaches without even trying. He'd spin straw into gold for him, bring their toys to life and change the sky green. Whatever it took to make him know and love magic as much as Harry did.

He wasn't going to lose his _whole_ family just because his aunt and uncle didn't understand how beautiful and amazing the world was.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Aunt Tuna snapped when she came into the living room and saw her nephew gathering up Dudley's things.

He looked up at her with a defiance in his eyes that hadn't been there for months.

"I'm taking Dudley's presents to him."

She blinked at him, confused by the glimpse of an angry Lily flashing in her memory. "Did he ask you to do that?"

"No. But I have to do something. I'm not going to let him stop us from being cousins. We're friends whether he likes me anymore or not," he professed stubbornly, his expression wavering at the end.

She smiled at him with pride and approval. "Good boy. I know he's angry but we can't let him shut us out. Even if he isn't ready to talk to his Mummy, he should still make up with you." She sat on the couch with her hands on her knees, leaning forward to be at eye-level with him. "It was wrong of me to push your Aunt Marge like that," she admitted.

"Pushing's never okay," he echoed her own words.

"Quite right," she quietly agreed. "I felt very angry and forgot that for a moment. She was right to feel upset over having been pushed."

"She said bad things about you," Harry reminded her skeptically.

"Yes," she hedged, "however I should have remained calm and responded with words."

He narrowed his eyes. "She said bad things about my daddy before, too."

Petunia tensed at the challenge in his voice. "She did," Petunia acknowledged.

"You didn't tell her not to."

Her lips pursed. "No."

He stared into her eyes with a calm solemnity that didn't suit his age. He wanted to ask if she had a reason for not liking his father but didn't dare, in case she told him what it was. The man in the moving photograph upstairs looked happy and kind, like someone who would have wanted to play games with Harry and take him out for ice cream. He didn't want to hear what Aunt Tuna remembered of him instead.

"Dudley's going to want snacks soon," he told her, changing the subject to avoid a fight he didn't feel ready for. Maybe someday, when he had asked Santa for a million and one more photos than what he had, so that he had a stronger idea of who his daddy really was first.

"Have you spoken to him?"

"No. Can I take some gingerbread up?"

She frowned. "You're going to get crumbs in the carpet. Tell him he can come downstairs if he wants something."

Harry frowned right back at her. "Okay," he agreed after a moment, sounding sullen as he drew the 'a' out disbelievingly, the same way Dudley would have done. He took the stuffed dog, Ace, and the play swords with him as he left, some Hot Wheels cars stuffed in his pockets. He went upstairs and unloaded his cargo in front of Dudley's door, then crept back to the staircase and sat down on the top step, easing his way down as he listened for conversation.

They were both in the kitchen again, so he advanced onto the battle field and snatched Dudley's stocking, taking his own down as well to double the amount of treats he had to offer, and hurried back to the stairs with them on nimble feet. If Aunt Tuna's strategy was to starve Dudley out of his room, she'd just been foiled. He smirked at his victory before stopping at his cousin's door, having to steel himself in order to knock.

Dudley rolled his eyes. He'd heard Harry leave his room and come back, then total silence as he must have stood there like a dork for two minutes.

"Dud?" Harry called hopefully.

"Go away," Dudley snarled.

"Dud, I brought stuff," he said, a note of conspiracy in his voice.

"Food?"

"Aunt Tuna said 'no,'" Harry retorted, and that made Dudley see red. He shot up from his bed and stomped to the door, wrenching it open.

Harry was standing there holding up two red stockings victoriously. "I brought them anyway," he finished pointedly.

"And now maybe if you give me some chocolates I can _tell_ you things that you can run back to her with, right? You can both just plot against me and pretend it's '_for my own good'_ for the rest of my life, right Harry?" he accused viciously.

His cousin was wide-eyed, shaking his head in denial, but Dudley went on.

"It's not like _you're_ the one who's stupid enough to believe in Santa, right? It's not like you talk about all the things that make her angry every single day, like a re-run on the telly that's constantly on instead of new episodes, because it's all you ever seem to think about. You don't care about goblins or fairies or elves, do you, Harry?" he demanded, face red and breathing heavy in his anger.

"I do," Harry protested.

"Or dragons," he said with a wild gesture towards the stuffed animal on his bed, "or werewolves or wishes or - or that stupid, ugly little troll," he finished with a sneer. "I never should have gotten that for you. But you don't like trolls anyway, do you? Especially not barmy little wizard ones."

"I love it," he said, sounding teary. "Dud, please? I'm sorry."

"You're sorry," Dudley repeated. "You're _sorry."_ He stood there staring at Harry incredulously, chest heaving, feeling a bit dizzy.

"Yes. I'm sorry. Aunt Marge said bad things about my Daddy and I just didn't like it when she started saying things about Aunt Tuna too."

"She was telling _the truth!"_ Dudley screamed at the top of his lungs. "Mummy _is_ crazy! You know that! And you sided with her anyway!"

"She looks at me like there's something wrong with me because she didn't like my parents!" Harry wailed back. "If she doesn't like yours either, what makes you think she won't start hating _you?"_

Dudley was stumped for a moment. He didn't even know what Harry was talking about, as his primary concern for the past month had been getting new toys. Most conversations going on around him sounded like, _'Santa, blah blah, toys, blah blah, cake, blah blah, presents.'_ "She's my aunt," he defended after taking time to consider the new information, "and Daddy's her brother. She has to like me."

Harry looked grim. "Aunt Tuna's my aunt, and my Mummy was her sister, but she doesn't always like me."

He stared at his lunatic cousin, wondering what sort of brain-eating virus had attacked him while he was sleeping, so that Harry could do something _so stupid_ and then somehow make sense of it. He took his stocking, a deep frown marring his face as he weighed up all that had happened. "Do you have your stuff from downstairs?"

"Just the stocking."

"Go get the rest."

Harry didn't budge, standing there looking at him in confusion.

"If you don't do everything I tell you, I will never forgive you even a little bit," Dudley said, quietly menacing.

Harry jerked back and then scampered off to retrieve his gifts.

Dudley waited until his cousin came back with his troll and the white bear Jack, his new sweater, books and electronic game. At his gesture, Harry dropped all of it onto Dudley's bed with a befuddled look.

"You'll forgive me if I give you my stuff?"

He glared. "Mummy won't take our stuff back to the store if she can't find it," he corrected. "Hide it. All of it."

Harry perked up like a hunting dog who had caught the scent of a fox. "Hold on," he said, rushing back out of the room and then truly _creeping_ down the steps, as silent as a mouse.

When he returned, Dudley almost forgave him completely. Harry was an idiot sometimes, he knew that, but now and then Dudley was reminded of why they were friends.

"Brilliant," he said in awe.

Harry smiled smugly.

"We _have _to hide it. Really well," Dudley amended, wondering if they even could.

"I've got a better idea."

Dudley cocked his head, an eyebrow raised in condescension as he waited to hear a 'better' idea than his own.

"You should open it."

_That _is _a better idea. Go figure._

Snatching his gift from Santa out of his cousin's hands, nearly falling over at the weight of it, he wondered why he hadn't thought of it. He dragged Harry into the room with one arm and then slammed his door shut, going to sit on the floor by the window, so that the noise of ripping paper wouldn't travel into the hallway.

When Harry recieved a gift from Santa, he tore it open with the same heart-pounding eagerness Dudley showed when attacking gifts.

When Dudley was faced with a box supposedly from Santa, he sat before it and paused to wonder what was inside, as Harry normally would.

"Do you believe in him now?" Harry asked, kneeling down beside him and peering into his eyes with anticipation.

"Course not," he denied with less scorn than he would usually have for such a suggestion. "It's from Aunt Marge. She wanted me to believe in him."

Harry frowned but kept quiet. He wasn't going to walk into another argument so soon, when he hadn't even been officially forgiven yet.

Briefly, Dudley thought of elves and magical sleigh bells that only children who believed could hear. He _knew_ there was no such thing as Santa but in that moment, faced with his first gift 'from Santa,' he doubted.

Maybe he really had been on the naughty list all his life.

_Then what about Harry? Why hasn't he had something all these years? Even this year, when Mummy and Daddy decided he was good enough, _Santa _didn't come for him._

Resolved once more that the fat man in the sleigh was a lie, he tore into the present as he would any other gift, ribbon and wrapping flying through the air.

Harry leaned forward eagerly as Dudley opened the plain cardboard box he'd revealed.

"Dud," he said faintly, "who else besides Santa would know about _this?"_

"Aunt Marge."

"Aunt Tuna hides it all in the basement."

Dudley straightened up, looking down upon his confiscated books as a king might examine his kingdom. "Not anymore," he decreed. He didn't even _like_ to read but that wasn't the point - these things were _his_ and he'd get rid of them when and how he wanted to.

"Hide them under the mattress," he instructed, pushing the box towards his cousin. "And be quick. There's something I have to do."

"What is it?" Harry asked, already following orders.

"I'm making a declaration of war."

Harry looked up at the hard tone in Dudley's voice. "Real war?" he asked hesitantly.

"Definitely," Dudley said with a nod, confidently striding out into the hall.

Harry began stuffing the books under the mattress with double speed, wishing he knew how to use magic to make it go faster.

Stopping at the top of the stairs, Dudley took a deep breath and steeled himself. He wasn't as angry with Harry anymore but that didn't change his mind about the rest of what he'd said. He was finished with being weird. On his next birthday, there would be a party and candles would be lit on the cake whether he believed in wishes or not.

"Magic!" he yelled. "Magic, magic, MAGIC! GOBLIN! Fairy! Elf! Magic, magic,_ magic!"_

The footsteps came running from the kitchen and his parents stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him, searching all around them for something, like Dudley wasn't the one yelling.

"Elf!" he hollered at them, and they looked behind themselves as though they were expecting to see one.

"Witch, warlock, wizard, sorceror," he sneered at them. "Hobgoblin, vampire, werewolf."

Vernon was nonplussed but Petunia began to scowl. "Dudley, stop that," she berated.

"Fairy," he retorted. "Magic wand," he taunted. "Magic broomstick, magic tricks, magic _hat."_

"Son, that's enough," Vernon said placatingly. He didn't look angry, just exasperated. Beside him, Petunia was glaring balefully.

"No, it isn't," he said. "I haven't been able to say any of it for months because of _her._ Magic! Magic, magic, magic!"

Stamping his foot, he looked down on them silently before turning and making a retreat back to his room at a swift pace, not running away but still leaving the scene with thoughts of escape on his mind. He didn't want to be standing there when the steam in his mother's head finally made her whistle blow.

Harry was standing in his doorway gaping at him in shock, so Dudley shoved him into the room on his way inside. Quickly closing the door, he recruited Harry's help in pushing the toybox behind it. They could live off from chocolates until New Year's Eve if they had to.

* * *

"Well," Vernon spoke quietly, "that was enlightening."

"He's gone mad."

"He's gone rebellious. I wouldn't be surprised if he's up there building a catapult," he said dryly.

She sighed. "What on earth are we going to do?"

"Bit late to take him back to the stork," he mused.

"Vernon!"

"Sorry, Pet." He wasn't sure if she was more offended at the joke or his mention of the fabled bird. His excuse of, "Just a slip of the tongue," handily covered both.


End file.
